


Han Jisung: Boy Anachronism

by bindaetteokgirl



Category: Stray Kids (Band), TWICE (Band)
Genre: ALSO a total asshole, Also a kleptomaniac, Alternate Universe - Royalty, And also a princess, Bittersweet, Childhood Friends, Comedy, Complete, Dahyun Is The Love Of My Life, Dahyun has enough spine for both of them, Dahyun is his longterm best friend, Dick Jokes, Emotional Edging as some would call it, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gay Jokes, Han Jisung is the heir to the throne, Han Jisung | Han-centric, I think it's funny., Jisung Has No Spine, M/M, Minho is a servant, SO many of both of those things, Slow Burn, The main pairing is minsung but dubchaeng are important too, There are so many tags, You can see where this is going can't you?, a few mentions of alcohol, a very lovable asshole, also a lot of bible references?, anyway., but like, dahyun is whipped, i'm not even sorry, mlm/wlw solidarity, seriously there's a lot, that's your warning, the candle has melted, this is the longest fic i have ever written, this slow burn is so slow that it's not even burning anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bindaetteokgirl/pseuds/bindaetteokgirl
Summary: Han Jisung and his best friend pretend to be straight in order to become monarchs. They open a bottle of champagne, announce the engagement over a dinner, and are met with entirely positive reactions. Dahyun is all set to move in, and everything seems to be going exactly as it should be.Then Jisung meets Dahyun's servant, Minho, and their meticulous plan immediately bursts into flames.--(royalty au set in the early 1900's with relative historical accuracy // title from 'Girl Anachronism - The Dresden Dolls')
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kim Dahyun/Son Chaeyoung
Comments: 49
Kudos: 109





	1. ONE : We're Both So Tragically Oppressed

**Author's Note:**

> strap in folks. this fic is a long and painful one, and this chapter is the start of something....... magical. enjoy!

“Are you ready?” Dahyun whispers, almost inaudible over the loud chatter booming from one end of the hall to the next. It’s full of life and echoing laughter but more importantly than that, it’s full of every member of the various Kim and Han dynasty branches, a room full of people Jisung needs to impress. He’s sweating just thinking about it. Jisung squeezes Dahyun’s hand underneath the table, his mouth twitching into a nervous smile. “Not in the slightest.”

The ruckus comes to an uncoordinated and reluctant halt as Jisung stands, flattening his suit with his hands before shakily picking up a glass of champagne, clearing his throat, and tapping the rim with a fork. The sound rings in a now quiet room, all eyes glued on the prince. Don’t look at your dad, he reminds himself immediately before turning his head towards the head of the table where the king sits, the threatening look on his face no different than it is any other time Jisung’s done something without permission. There’s no doubt he’ll need a shower after this.

"My apologies for holding up the meal,” he starts just as a barrage of maids infiltrate the hall to place plates of food and wine bottles in front of the attendees. “I’ll try not to take too long. I’d just like to thank you all for being here and allowing our families to meet, for otherwise, I may have never met the wonderful woman sitting next to me,” he says, gesturing to Dahyun. She smiles fondly at him, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and nodding at Jisung, signaling him to continue. He looks up once more as he proceeds with the speech.

“So, a toast-” He says, raising his glass proudly. Despite the confused mummers and uncertain glances being exchanged down the hall, all guests at this dinner ready their glasses, eagerly watching Jisung as they await his follow up. “-to my beautiful soon to be wife.”

Before Jisung’s even had time to sit back down the hall has erupted into a sea of scattered cheers and applause. He grins as Dahyun snakes her arms around his bicep, both of them giggling like children as they briefly glance at each other. Within a few moments the feast has begun, chatter filling the hall just as it did twenty minutes ago. This time, though, it’s busier. It’ll take no longer than a few hours for rumours to start spreading. Jisung wouldn’t be surprised if his sudden engagement was already the town’s gossip. No, it’s definitely national news by now, those maids travel quickly and their mouths travel quicker. Soon enough it’ll surely be a nightmare to venture outside. But right now, he doesn't care. 

All Jisung cares about right now is the fact he’s once again managed to fool an entire kingdom into believing that he’s attracted to women.

“Oh my god, they’re so fucking dumb,” Dahyun wheezes as they slip out of the hall together and advance towards some quiet corner. Jisung attempts to shush her, but to no avail. “They’ll hear you! Are you trying to blow our cover already?”

“Calm down, Ji. What’s the worst anyone could do? Congratulate me on my engagement?” She snorts, and Jisung can’t stifle his own laughter a moment longer. They’re clutching onto each other, Dahyun’s arms still wrapped around Jisung as he leads them outside, as far away from the other royals as they can get. “God, we’re geniuses. I think I’m the most incredible person alive.”

  
Jisung scoffs. “Alright, I’m the one who had to give a speech, I deserve that credit.”

  
  
“Uh, a speech that _I_ scripted, thank you very much,” she retorts, letting her arms fall back down by her side once she’s sure they’re both out of sight. “Typical. The straight man once again takes credit for the work of his trophy wife, I expect nothing better.” Dahyun’s dramatic sigh turns to an even more dramatic yelp as Jisung nudges her in the side with his elbow. “That’s no way to treat your fiance!”

“Huh, I think I finally understand why my dad hated his wife so much,” Jisung says as he sits himself cross legged on the grass, picking a flower. “You love me,” she smiles, sitting next to him. Jisung gently pushes the flower behind her ear, pulling at it a little to make sure it stays. “Seriously, though, good job.”

“No, you did all the hard work,” Jisung mutters, leaning back on his hands. Dahyun grins. “I know. Just thought I’d be nice as a thank you for not pissing yourself immediately. Ah, the joys of marriage!”

  
  
Jisung huffs out a laugh. “So, when are you officially moving in?” He asks after a few seconds of silence, to which Dahyun just shrugs. “Not sure yet. I still need to convince Minho and Chaeyoung to come with me.”

  
“Min...I’m sorry, who?” He asks, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“Minho and Chaeyoung! Come on, I’m sure I’ve mentioned them at least once, haven’t I?”

  
“Maybe,” he says, sounding equally as (if not more) confused as he did before Dahyun last spoke. “I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.” Dahyun pouts, leaning forward to pinch his arm. She can’t help but smile a little when he yelps. “Anyway, Chaeyoung’s a baker and Minho’s one of my general servants, they’re cool! I think they’d like you.” The smile on Dahyun’s face fades as soon as she finishes speaking, causing Jisung to tilt his head in questioning. “Well, maybe. Nevermind.”

  
“Nevermind?”

  
“Forget I mentioned it,” she says with a slight laugh, looking around nervously. “So, how are y-”

“Dahyun,” Jisung starts, and if she didn’t regret bringing it up before, she surely does now. “Why wouldn’t they like me?”

With a hearty sigh, Dahyun rests her chin against her hand. “Chaeyoung would! Minho, though…” She trails off to giggle and looks Jisung dead in the eyes. “Imagine me, but a, uh, a feisty little cat dude.”

“He sounds wonderful,” Jisung says quietly. “If he’s anything like you I’m sure we’d get along great!”

  
  
“No, no. Not even a little. Basically the only thing we have in common is that we hate men.” Jisung huffs out a laugh at this. “Is he..?” Jisung relaxes his wrist.

“Big time.”

For a second, Jisung is happy, overjoyed, even. He hasn’t talked to someone like him in only God knows how long. Then he remembers how Dahyun introduced him, and he frowns. “Wait, you really don’t think he’ll like me?” He speaks with so much hope in his voice that she almost feels bad for him. Dahyun shakes her head. “Nope. It’s nothing personal, though!” Then, she sighs. “I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Your ego is destroyed, isn’t it?.”

  
  
Jisung forces out an unbothered laugh. “Why would it hurt my ego? I don’t even know who you’re talking about. He probably sucks. I don’t care about the opinion of someone I don’t know, that’s stupid, why would I care? Especially someone who, presumably, sucks. Does it seem like I’m bothered? Because I’m not. And I don’t care, by the way. Just in case you thought I did. I don’t.”

  
  
Jisung, as he’s unintentionally made very clear, does care. A lot. “Jisung,” Dahyun sighs, massaging his shoulders in a futile attempt to relax him. “Just… Don’t pay attention when he’s mean to you, alright? Again, he’s like a cat. He gets nervous around new people and bites them to assert his dominance. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  
  
He pouts, slouching in defeat. As much as Jisung wants to lay face first down on the grass for two hours and not speak to anyone, the sound of approaching footsteps forces him to straighten up, plastering a smile back onto his face and looking at Dahyun as if she’s not his mortal enemy. “Your Highness!” A voice calls from a few feet away. Jisung looks up to see a knight jogging towards them, his armour clanking noisily as he does so. Even with a helmet covering his face, Jisung can tell who it is. “Hey, Chan,” he says, flashing him a tiny smile. Chan pulls the helmet of and sighs in relief, shaking his head like a dog fresh out of the ocean.

“God, it’s hot in that,” he pants under his breath, and Jisung mentally curses himself for not looking away. Dahyun winks at him. Jisung refuses to react, instead smiling at Chan, his gaze friendly as always. “Shall we talk in private?” 

“Oh, I’m actually here for both of you! There’s a carriage arriving soon that the king needs you to greet. Follow me?” Chan says, fluffing his hair idly as he speaks. Jisung hums a note of confusion. “That doesn’t seem right,” Jisung mumbles. From beside him he can hear Dahyun giggle. She sprawls her hand out on Jisung’s bicep once more and moves closer to him. He looks at her with a baffled expression on his face. “Do you know what this is about?”

“Mhm, I can guess. Lead the way, Channie!”

And so, he does. Chan walks at a reasonable speed a few feet ahead of Dahyun and Jisung and without another word they follow him. Physically, Jisung is outside in the palace garden, the same one he‘s taken walks in every other day since he was a child, but mentally? He’s somewhere else. Somewhere far, far from here. He would be in Dahyun’s castle making pleasant small talk with the servant, but another to the devastating blow he received from her moments earlier, that doesn’t seem all too plausible. Jisung stares straight ahead.

He considers asking for her advice on becoming more likable, but he knows Dahyun, and regardless of whether or not it’s on purpose her advice is always terrible. Especially when it comes to men. For two reasons, actually. The first is obvious; she’s not attracted to them and, aside from Jisung and maybe a few of the knights, she doesn’t care to understand how they work. “Boys are so easy, Ji,” she’s told him on numerous occasions. And in a way, perhaps she’s right. But maybe Dahyun is just better at reading people than he is. Either way, he knows it’s not personal. 

The second reason, however, is. Dahyun’s terrible advice regarding men stems not only from the fact she simply doesn’t care but from the fact Jisung is equally as terrible at taking it. Why? Because, he’s a pussy, of course. Jisung’s not ashamed to admit that he’s a coward. Okay, well, he kind of is, but that’s besides the point. The point is that women can easily flirt with each other and pass it off as nothing, but it’s different with men. Men can’t braid each other’s hair and tell each other they look cute in certain colours, because when a man calls another man cute, the entire world seems to hear it.

Jisung stares at Chan’s back and thinks about when he was last in love. He thinks about how he’d stay up to the most egregious hours, writing letters, pressing flowers into the envelopes, then stuffing them into a box underneath his bed and never sending them. After a few weeks of writing he lost count. The box was overflowing, and one evening when Dahyun sat in Jisung’s room painting his nails with clear polish, she noticed ink stains and paper on the floor. 

Apparently, when Dahyun gave him the advice to write about how he feels, she forgot to tell him what to do with his poetry. She wanted him to send them. Jisung couldn’t laugh at the suggestion, as he knew sending it was out of the question. Jisung knew his love couldn’t be reciprocated. More than that, though, he couldn’t risk anyone finding out. So, he kept them hidden, although rather poorly.

And apparently, when you don’t efficiently hide your letters, people find them.

Jisung thinks about how the King reacted and decides to stop thinking about love.

“Jisung,” Dahyun whispers, and Jisung nods. “Are you still upset that I said Minho won’t like you?”

Jisung scoffs. “What? Me, upset? No, not even a little! Of course I’m not upset,” he says, laughing politely. Dahyun slides her hand down his arm and holds Jisung’s hand instead. “Good. It’s not worth-”

  
  
“But I’m gonna prove you wrong,” he says. Dahyun stops walking. “No, you aren’t.”

Upon realizing the footsteps have stopped, Chan turns around. “Is there a problem?”

“Ah, sorry, Chan. My fiancé is just causing problems on purpose. You know what he’s like,” she sighs, and Chan giggles. Jisung pouts. “Actually-”

Dahyun squeezes his hand, and Jisung stops speaking to whine. “Can’t live with him, can’t live without him!” She forces a polite laugh through gritted teeth as Jisung squirms, desperately trying to free himself from Dahyun’s ever-tightening grasp. Chan shakes his head, still laughing a little. “Can you two try not to kill each other for another few minutes? I mean, take your time, but the King doesn’t like waiting.”

“Sorry, Chan,” Dahyun and Jisung mumble in unison, and Chan turns around. “It’s okay. Ready to keep going?”

It only takes them a few minutes to reach the gates, but Jisung feels like he’s been walking for days. “Jisung,” Dahyun whispers, anger in her voice. “Yes, honey?”

  
“Don’t ‘honey’ me, you bastard. What do you mean you’re gonna prove me wrong?”

“Oh, you know,” Jisung says. Dahyun waits for him to say more as they finally reach the gates, but to no avail. Jisung’s finished talking. “No, actually, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“Well,” he starts, leaning his face a little closer to Dahyun’s ear so no one but them can hear. Along with a few miscellaneous members of staff, the King stands parallel to him and Dahyun, looking forward towards the large metal gate, impatiently awaiting the moment it’ll open. Jisung stares straight ahead. Years of experience have taught Jisung to never look at Dahyun whilst she’s angry. Many have tried, but few have survived. “I just mean I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

“If you don’t-”

“The gates are opening!” A maid announces, and Jisung sighs in relief as Dahyun lets go of his hand to prepare her applause. “I’m not done with you,” she whispers. Jisung smiles. Yes she is. He knows this because the minute the gates have opened and the carriage has rolled in, her expression has turned from faux to genuine joy as the door opens and she sees two people, presumably the same pair she mentioned earlier, make their way out.

“Chaeyoung!” she squeals, immediately enveloping her in a hug. The heels she wears allow her to tower over Chaeyoung, who looks a bit like a lost child. She’s taken aback at first, but after a moment hugs back, her cheek squishing against Dahyun’s chest. Jisung can’t help feeling good whenever he sees her grin. There’s something so infectious about it, and even though Jisung has no reason to feel happy upon the arrival of these strangers, he smiles too. Dahyun lets go of Chaeyoung and gestures to Jisung, who waves politely before moving to shake her hand. “Lovely to meet you,” he says, and she nods. “You too, Your Highness.”

Then, him.

Dahyun’s almost the same height as Minho in these heels, which only makes Jisung a little bit insecure as to his own stance. He straightens his posture and mentally reassures himself his personality will make up for it. Similarly to Chaeyoung, Minho looks slightly lost, and a little uninterested. Of course, he’s happy to see Dahyun. But everything else is just scenery he couldn’t care less for. “I didn’t think you’d come,” Dahyun whispers, and Minho smiles. Jisung curses himself for thinking it’s cute.

“Of course I came,” he says, pulling apart from the hug to look her in the eyes. Unlike Jisung, he actually has to look down to make eye contact with Dahyun. His voice is so soft, and he looks so sweet, Jisung can only assume Dahyun was overestimating him. This can’t be the same Minho that bites people, no way. Jisung sighs in relief as they part. However, when Dahyun gestures to Jisung’s outstretched hand, Minho doesn’t shake it.

No, Minho narrows his eyes and scoffs. Jisung lifts his hand and runs it through his hair as coolly as possible, attempting to play it off the rejection with a nervous laugh, still smiling at Minho. His life is over. There’s no coming back from this, Jisung thinks. Might as well jump into the river and-

“Still want to prove me wrong?” Dahyun whispers somewhat teasingly as Minho moves alongside Chaeyoung to greet the king. Jisung blinks. For a moment, he’s lost, no idea who or where he is nor why anyone is talking to him. “Why didn’t you warn me?” He mumbles. Dahyun groans. “You’re a nightmare, Han Jisung. Anything, are you feeling alright? You look kinda… Well, you look like you’re about to jump into a river.” Jisung laughs, and stares at the ground. Various royals and servants alike are conversing all around them, but all Jisung can focus on is his own incompetence. “You know me so well.”

“What else is a wife for?” She teases, pinching his cheek. Jisung doesn’t want to look up, but he does, and the weight on his shoulders becomes a little lighter at the sight of Dahyun’s smiling face. “Now stop being a baby and help me show the guests around. Unless, of course, you think Minho’ll like you more if you run away…”

Jisung beams at no one in particular and hooks his arm around Dahyun’s, turning towards the newcomers and bowing. Even if he fails as a son, a prince, and a person overall, at least Jisung can take comfort in one simple truth;

He’s a wonderful tour guide.


	2. TWO : Casting The Nativity, Albeit Rather Poorly

Chaeyoung fits in great. Honestly, within a few days, it feels like she’s been residing in this kingdom for years. She’s nice to Jisung, and the bread she bakes always tastes wonderful. Dahyun couldn’t be happier with her. 

Minho, however, is the opposite. He’s never enjoyed working for any royals, but Dahyun hasn’t had any major problems with him before. So, as she leans against a doorframe with Minho’s voice echoing in the otherwise silent room, she can’t help but wonder what’s different. Is she just the exception? It’s quite likely, considering Dahyun is perfect and only a complete fool could ever dislike her, but Jisung’s not that bad either. She sighs. 

Not for a second had she assumed that Jisung and Minho would become best friends, but she had hoped he’d at least give him a chance. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Minho asks, holding the broom upright against the floor. Dahyun tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks at him. “No, not really. I tuned out a couple minutes ago.” She looks him up and down, examining his stance, and determines that he looks just as fed up as he did twenty minutes ago. “Are you still talking about Jisung?”  
  
Minho scoffs, tightening his grip on the handle and continuing to aggressively sweep. His stare burns into the hardwood flooring as dust piles into one spot. He was definitely still talking about Jisung. “Minho, I say this in the nicest way possible,” she starts, and Minho laughs. Phrases like that are always a good indication that whatever Dahyun says next will leave him debilitatingly insecure for at least the next two weeks. “You talk way too much about Jisung to hate him.”

“Uh, not true,” he says. “People talk about Judas all the time and I’m pretty sure nobody likes that guy.” Dahyun giggles. “If Jisung’s Judas, who am I? And you?”

“Oh, this is obvious. You’re the Virgin Mary-” he starts, but is immediately cut off. “Hold on,” she interrupts, and Minho sighs dramatically. “Why am I the Virgin Mary? I should be Jesus!”

“You would _not_ be Jesus, Dahyun, _I’m_ Jesus. I thought that was also obvious?”

“No, no way, I refuse to accept you’re Jesus instead of me,” she says, shaking her head. Minho inhales deeply. “Let me break it down-”

“I do _not_ need you to explain how the Bible works-”

“I won’t! Besides, I’ve never read it. Now, please, stop interrupting! Do you want me to explain my reasoning or not?” After a few moments of Minho glaring at her, Dahyun sighs, relaxes her shoulders, and (reluctantly) nods. She’s been defeated. Minho smiles, and holds the brush still once again.

“Let me set the scene; I’m Jesus, you gave birth to me thirty something years ago, and I’m eating dinner with my bros. I’m perfect, everyone loves me-”

Dahyun coughs twice, and in between her faux fit, whispers “I’m Jesus.” Minho groans. “You’re ruining my life, princess.”

“Uh, that’s mom to you.”

“Anyway!” Minho says loudly. “This guy, Judas, everything thinks he’s nice, right? Including Jesus! Because Jesus is a good person, and he gives people a chance. But Judas fuckin’ sucks. You wanna know why?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“Because everyone loves him! No one ever thinks, hey, this guy might be evil, because they’re sheep! All twelve of them!” Suddenly, just as Minho is reaching his peak, Dahyun starts giggling. He frowns. “That is absolutely not how Christianity works. Quit while you’re ahead, Minho.”

“Really? Because I think that makes perfect sense,” he shrugs, idly returning to brushing the floor. “That still doesn’t explain how I’m Mary,” she says. Minho pauses. He had forgotten about that part. “Again, that’s obvious. You’re Mary because you raised me to be the man I am today.”

“I did a terrible job,” she muses, and Minho pretends to lunge at her. Dahyun laughs. “Kidding! That’s sweet. You just made that up, though, so I’m not flattered in the slightest. I still think I should’ve been God.” Minho tilts his head in confusion. “Weren’t you claiming to be Jesus like two minutes ago?”

“Changed my mind,” she says nonchalantly, and Minho smiles. “Makes sense.”

“So, where were you going with that awful analogy?” Dahyun asks. Minho thinks long and hard, and after a few pensive moments, he speaks. Dahyun is on the edge of her metaphorical seat. “I have no idea. Anyway, fuck Han Jisung. That guy sucks.”

“Minho,” she groans, pushing herself off the door with her foot. It’s funny, almost, how Dahyun makes absolutely no effort to look or act like a princess. She only ever looks presentable when forced to. Still, she’s pretty enough to look royal, even when she looks a mess. Minho thinks, no, he knows that if he were straight he’d drool over her.

Sadly for Minho, though, he’s gay. And that means when Dahyun grabs his shoulders and shakes him like a bottle of champagne all he thinks is _OUCH_. “You’ve spoken to him, what, twice? Three times? You’re being unreasonable!”

As soon as Dahyun lets go of him Minho wheezes and throws himself against the wall for support, dropping the brush to the floor with a thud. Dahyun flinches at how loud it is, then gently kicks Minho’s shin. He whines. “You deserved that,” she says, and when he turns his face from the wall to look at her his expression is akin to that of a puppy preparing to be put down. “Isn’t a mother supposed to love her son no matter what?”

“We’re still going on this? I’m not even a year older than you,” she says. Minho rolls his eyes and straightens up, resting his back against the wall. Dahyun assumes the same position next to him. “Actually, I’m older than everyone, Dahyun. What part of me being Jesus do you not understand?”

“I’m gonna leave now,” she says. In an instant Minho’s face drops. “No! I mean, yeah, go ahead, I just…” he trails off, suddenly defeated. Dahyun pats his back and nods. “I get it. You hate it here. You’re not making it easier for yourself, though.” Minho’s face contorts in a mix of betrayal and confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on. You haven’t said a single nice word about anything since you arrived. I’m not asking you to you to love it here, but can you at least make an effort?” She asks. Minho looks at his feet and furrows his eyebrows. So what if he hates this shitty kingdom and all its inhabitants? Why should he have to pretend otherwise? To make the royals happy? Yeah, that sounds perfectly reasonable and not oppressive at all.

Minho wants to argue. He wants to spit a verse or five on just how unfair this entire situation is on him, but he knows that won’t solve anything. Dahyun sees him, and hears him, but it seems like she’s the only one who does. He knows getting mad at her over a system she’s only in by blood is useless and unfair, but nothing is ever fair. And Minho hates it. He hates the fact his life is viewed as less important than a king’s, or a knight’s, or even a baker’s all because he’s a servant. “It’s not-”

“I know it’s not fair, Minho. I know,” she repeats, rubbing his back. Minho huffs out an angry sigh. “That’s not what I was gonna say. I was gonna say it’s not-”

“Not your fault? Yeah, I know that too. I listen sometimes,” she says, and Minho decides to stop talking. There’s no conversation about this worth having. Maybe, Minho thinks to himself, the voice in his head small and weak, there are no conversations about me worth having. Dahyun pats his back a little too harshly and he coughs before glaring at her. “I’ll finish up here,” she says, much to Minho’s confusion. “You’re hungry, right?”

Minho shrugs. “I could eat.” Dahyun smiles and reaches a hand into her pocket, her tongue poking her cheek as she scavenges the inside. Then, she pulls out a few coins and grabs Minho’s wrist, dropping them into his hand before closing his fist. “Good, go buy us some bread.”

“Why do I have to do it?” he groans. “Because,” Dahyun starts, gesturing him towards the door. “I don’t want you to be a hermit already. Go! Be sociable! Make friends! Oh, if she’s working can you tell Chaeyoung I said hi?”

“If you wanna say hi to Chaeyoung that bad you should go yourself,” he says, but it’s too late. Dahyun’s already picked up the sweeping brush and is staring at it with determination (and… fear?) in her eyes. “Dahyun, are you sure-”

“I know how to use a broom, Minho! Now get out of here before I hit you with it!”

Minho doesn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

The kingdom is, as he’s previously established, shitty. Well, not physically. It’s actually very pleasant to the eye. It’s pleasant to every sense, if Minho’s honest. Clean air, cobblestone pavements, and flowers lining the crack between each house. When he inhales he can feel relief enter his lungs. For a moment, Minho forgets to be angry. Then, he shakes his head, and reminds himself not to fall for it. There’s not much Minho can do, but to be angry is to rebel, and to rebel is… Well, it’s something. Even if nobody notices the rebellion but himself.

As Minho makes his way downtown, he concludes that even though everything feels so new, it’s still so familiar. This kingdom is virtually the same as the one he lived in prior, with only the most minor variations, almost to the point of it feeling uncanny. Minho isn’t quite used to any one of it. It makes him feel so lost. There is one thing that brings him comfort, though. One thing that remains entirely unchanged, that stays holy and untouched, one bright orange streetlight that flickers bright and guides him on a drunk walk home.

The smell of freshly baked bread.

In theory, all bread baked following a single recipe should come out smelling the same. But, as a self-proclaimed wheat connoisseur, Minho begs to disagree. Bread baked by Chaeyoung always, without a doubt smells the best. Even when it’s burnt! He’s not biased, either. A good second opinion to prove this fact is Dahyun. Anyone who knows their past would assume her and Chayoung hate each other, but they don’t. “Heartbreak changes a lot of things,” Minho told her one night. She was fifteen then, clutching a pillow close to her chest and sobbing vigorously into it. She looked sad, obviously, but sick too. Minho tapped her shoulder and smiled softly at her as she finally looked up, her face puffy and red. “You still need to eat.”

And so, with a mouthful of soda bread, Dahyun dried her tears. Even though she was in love with someone who didn’t reciprocate, she knew it wasn’t worth losing a friendship over. Nor was it worth tainting the delicious taste of anything baked by Son Chaeyoung.

It only makes sense that when Minho walks into the bakery and breathes in a different air to what he’s grown so used to, it feels like he’s been shot. Not just shot, but spat on, run over, and then mauled by bears. _How_ , he wonders, tears brimming in his eyes, _how can I be expected to try when they make my life so hard?_ He sniffs again, long and thoughtful, and prays the aroma shifts. But it doesn’t. Minho could die right now and feel nothing.

He blinks back his tears and steps forward, begrudgingly approaching the counter, when the scent suddenly becomes a lot stronger. Okay, they’re no Chaeyoung, but whoever kneaded the dough didn’t do too bad a job. Again, he whiffs the air, and it smells… Beautiful. Minho needs to meet the deity that conceived of this recipe immediately to kiss them on the lips. Whoever they are, they deserve it. They deserve the world.

Minho stands in front of the counter, nervously running his thumb along ridges of his handful of coins. Dahyun gave him far too much, as she does every time she gives him money. He knows exactly why. It’s in the hope he’ll forgot to return the change, and Minho can end the day a little richer, and his savings can pile on a little faster, and he can use that money he’s made to live a life elsewhere, but in spite of Dahyun’s hope she knows how stubborn he is. Minho refuses to accept handouts from anyone, especially not her. She understands, but hates it all the same. 

The boy (man? Probably man, although he looks a bit young) behind the counter smiles at Minho. “What can I do for you?”

_Make out with me_ , his mind chimes in immediately. Minho blushes at the thought. 

The man (yes, definitely man, that voice couldn't belong to a kid) behind the counter is, for lack of a better word, adorable. He looks like he was sent straight from heaven to make Minho’s life worth living again. Even if nothing comes from their next exchange, Minho feels as though he’ll forever be satisfied just by having seen those freckles. Of course, he has freckles. Minho’s never felt more alive.

Suddenly realizing his silence, Minho stuffs the coins into his pocket and hastily points a loaf of bread on display in front of him. “Can you tell me who made this? I want to shake their hand.”

The man behind the counter giggles. “Thank you,” he says, shoving his hand over the counter. Minho is fit to collapse. Could this stranger be anymore perfect? His freckled cheeks have turned the sweetest shade of pink and Minho can’t help but think he’s in love. No, he doesn’t think he’s in love, he knows he’s in love. Minho never saw himself marrying a baker before this moment, but that’s alright, wedding vows can be rewritten with ease. Minho looks at his hand, and he can’t help but grin. Oh, the things he’d do to that tiny hand.

He would hold it.

After a moment of staring, Minho takes the baker’s hand and shakes it, taking a mental note of how soft it is. Why hadn’t Dahyun told him the wonders of this kingdom before he arrived? Surely if he’d known of the beauty inside these walls he would’ve moved in moments. Ah, Dahyun, he thinks, his inner monologue speaking softer than ever before. _You bitch._

As much as Minho longs to confess his love here and now, he knows he shouldn’t. He might not even like boys. It’s unlikely considering how sweet he looks, but Minho knows the risks. Next time, he decides. Next time I come here I’ll ask him out. Minho’s hand falls back down by his side and the baker continues grinning.

“Can I, um, get a loaf of that?” Minho asks, and he nods, picking one out from the display and carefully handing it to him after Minho presses his payment down on the glass counter. The baker smiles. God, that smile. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” he says, and Minho laughs a little. “If it comes close I’ll be in awe. Hey, what’s your-”

“Minho!” Someone yells from a back room, and Minho grits his teeth. He loves Chaeyoung, really he does, but she’s just interrupted what may be the most important moment of his new life. “Oh, hey Felix,” she says as she approaches the counter, leaning up against it. Her short hair is tied high and loose atop her head and her apron is dirty as ever. She cracks a smile at Minho, and, if only because his thoughts are elsewhere, he smiles back. “Hello. Dahyun said to say hi, by the way.”

“Aw, why didn’t she come herself? I miss her!”

“Apparently,” Minho scoffs, his face still warm, “I’ve already become a hermit. Go figure.”

“Makes sense,” she laughs, and _Felix_ looks at them. “You’ve met Lix?”

“We’re just meeting,” he says, smiling at him, unable to tear his eyes away from those goddamn freckles. Felix. God, he’s perfect. “So how-”

“I’d better go,” he says suddenly, and Chaeyoung can’t help snorting. She’s seen that look in Minho’s eyes before, and she knows exactly what it means. “Can’t keep the princess waiting, now can I? Besides, she wanted to sweep the floor and I can already sense she’s made it dirtier than it was before I left. But I’ll see you soon, okay?” He says, and Chaeyoung nods. Felix looks at her with such innocent confusion that Minho can hardly bear to turn away. “Sounds good.”

* * *

  
  


“So, I guess I can’t use a broom after all! Ain’t that something?” Dahyun says the moment Minho enters the room, but Minho doesn’t hear her. He’s far too busy and far too floozy to even notice she’s there. She looks at the loaf in his hands and scoffs. “You’re eating it without me?”

Minho looks at her and grins. “Dahyun, I met the most wonderful boy,” he says whimsically. He sits himself on the floor next to a scattered pile of dust and a discarded sweeping brush. Dahyun sits down beside Minho, tears a piece off the bread, and stares at Minho like he has seven heads. “He works at the bakery-he made this-and he has the cutest freckles I’ve ever seen. Oh my God, don’t get me started, even his hands are cute. They’re so small and fairy-like? I think he’s actually a fairy, Dahyun. Even his name is perfect.”

“Felix?” She asks, her voice muffled from the sheer volume of bread in her mouth. Minho looks at her quirked eyebrow and tilted head and nods. The confusion on her face melts away and after another few moments of chewing, she swallows hard. “Yeah, sorry, him and Chan are totally boning.”

It’s at this moment Minho remembers God is cruel and merciless.

It’s all coming together, he thinks, sinking further onto the floor. If Minho is Jesus in this kingdom’s Nativity, then he’s to suffer. Actually, that’s his sole reason for existence. He was born to suffer. Dahyun laughs at him, and Minho can’t help but feel as though this entire situation was an orchestrated betrayal of his vulnerability.

Minho hates men. He feels his heart grow heavy the further down he sinks and suddenly Minho hates the taste of bread just as much as he hates Han Jisung. He hates Jisung, and he hates Felix, and above all else, he hates bread. “Hey,” Dahyun says, resting her hand on his knee. She’s trying not to giggle. “Heartbreak changes a lot of th-”

Minho sits up and lunges himself at Dahyun, who’s now cackling. “I’m not even sorry,” she says as Minho tackles her to the ground, letting out a groan as he does. “You’re a monster. An actual monster.”

Minho goes limp, and Dahyun hoists him back into a sitting position, rubbing his back in a hug. “You’re so dramatic,” she giggles, and Minho whines. “You did this literally a month ago. And the month before that, too.”

“Shhh,” Minho whispers, staring at the pile of dirt. He pats Dahyun’s back before springing back onto his feet and holding a hand out to help Dahyun up. Slightly confused, she takes it. “At least I can sweep a floor. Now, get off of me and grab a dustpan. I need to teach you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first two chapters up nd posted woo woo! this and chapter one are the most exposition heavy chapters, chapter three onwards is far less.. like that hehe. hope u enjoyed, and again, thank u for reading!


	3. THREE : Full Moon, Half Moon, Total Eclipse Of The Heart

“One thing I _don’t_ get, Your Highness,” Changbin starts, looking up from the glass he’s wiping to gaze down at Jisung. His cheek is squished against his palm as he leans on the counter. “-Is why you’re here. I mean, I’m not telling you to leave, but why go to a bar if you don’t drink?”

Jisung takes a sip of the apple juice Changbin poured him a few moments ago. “You don’t get it,” he sighs dramatically, and Changbin huffs out a laugh. “That’s why I asked.”

“It’s quiet here. At least, quieter than most places,” he says, shifting his eyes across the tavern. It’s almost empty apart from himself, the few staff members currently on shift, a pair of lovers and a drunk old man asleep in the corner. Jisung points at the latter. “Hey, is he-”

“Dead?” Changbin interrupts, and Jisung looks back at him to nod. Changbin shrugs. “Eh, probably not. You can go poke him if you’d like, it’d save me the trouble.”

Jisung looks at the man, then back at Changbin, and lets his shoulders fall. “No thanks,” he mumbles, lifting his juice and taking another sip. This is his third glass of the night. He knows he should head back home, it’s late, and someone’s probably worried by now, but he just can’t stomach the thought of returning to the palace yet. Even calling it a home feels wrong, because nothing about that place feels very homely. “You look sad,” Changbin says, and Jisung’s eyes widen. “Sad? No, not at all! I’m just...”

The sound of a door opening combined with uncoordinated footsteps and laughter distract both Jisung and Changbin from their trains of thought. “Binnie, Binnie, what the fuck is up dude! Guess who just got kicked out of a-”

Then, as soon as Jisung swirls around in his seat, the man in the doorway stops. It’s like he’s been suddenly paralysed, now stuck to where he stands. “Minho?” Changbin asks, concern in his voice. Minho doesn’t respond for a second. He just stares straight, his eyes narrowed and fixed on that clueless looking bastard by the bar. Han Fucking Jisung.

“Do you want me to, like… leave the room, maybe…?” Changbin asks, and Minho finally snaps out of whatever had possessed him to stand so still. “It’s fine! I’ll have whatever the prince is having.”

Jisung is confused, to say the least. Minho sounds quite angry for a reason he can’t be certain of, but assumes is probably just because he exists. And, according to Dahyun, Minho doesn’t like the fact that Jisung exists very much. No, that’s not right. 

Minho doesn’t like the fact that Jisung exists at all.

“Here you go, same as old princey,” Changbin says, sliding Minho a glass. Minho’s eyes haven’t left Jisung since he walked in and Jisung is starting to feel a bit like prey being intently watched by something much bigger and stronger than he is. Without even saying thank you, Minho lifts the glass to his lips and drinks, his face contorting in confusion the moment he swallows. “Is this fucking apple juice?”

“I’m not a big alcohol fan,” Jisung murmurs, looking down at his feet, which are swinging back and forth just above the floor. “Then why are you here?”

“Already asked,” Changbin says, and Minho finally looks away from Jisung. “Anyway,” he starts again, taking Minho’s glass and taking a swig from it. Jisung decides not to question it. “Someone wanna tell me what’s going on? Ooh, are you two bumpin’ uglies?”

“What? No, Jesus, Changbin!” Minho scoffs, clearly disgusted. Jisung isn’t really sure what’s going on. “Then why are you acting so weird? Come on, no judgement here. Well, not from me, but I can't really speak if that old guy wakes up. Mean bastard,” he mumbles as he pours Minho a glass of something with a little more punch.

“Your Highness,” Minho says, turning to face Jisung. Jisung looks up from his feet and swallows hard. “Y-yeah?”

“Do you not have nicer places to go?” His voice is tinged with faux sweetness, a kind so unnatural it makes Jisung’s skin crawl. He feels uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, but it feels wrong to pin that all on Minho. Besides, he told Dayhyun he was going to prove her wrong, and despite the rocky start he still has faith in himself to do just that. “I think it’s nice here,” he says quietly, smiling. “And you?”

In hindsight, perhaps that sounded like an insult. But Jisung swears he meant it to be nice. Minho clenches his fist and speaks through gritted teeth. “So what if I don’t, Your Highness? Is it a problem that I, a lowly servant, dare to breathe the same air as you?”

“No, that’s not-I wasn’t trying to-”

“I know exactly what you were trying,” he says, leaning closer towards Jisung. Minho’s face is barely two inches away from Jisung’s own and he can hear his deep, angry breathing so loudly it almost silences the sound of his own beating heart. “And I’m not falling for it.”

Meanwhile behind the bar, Changbin is talking to himself. “Nice moon out tonight,” he comments, and Minho pulls back to sit himself upright. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Lovely night to go for a walk. Don’t you think so, Princey?”

“I suppose? I mean, yeah! Great, great for a walk,” he mumbles, nodding absent-mindedly.

A few years ago a member of staff working for Jisung and his family suffered a stroke, and once he was recovered and back in the palace, he told Jisung what it felt like. The way he described it always stuck with him; “you feel like you’ve been dropped onto the surface of another planet, and the residents of said planet are all talking to you, but you can’t understand the language they’re speaking, nor can you tell whether or not they’re human.”

And as horrifying as it sounded, at least Jisung could take comfort in the fact he’d never experienced anything like it, and he’d never have to fully understand. But as he sits here, sipping his apple juice, that comfort slips away like sand through his fingers or dust in the wind. 

Perhaps Jisung is finally having a stroke.

“Right, I’m gonna kick you both out,” Changbin says finally after one too many seconds of tense, awkward silence. Minho gasps. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me. Your vibes suck, and I don’t wanna listen to you anymore. Sorry, Your Highness,” Changbin says, and Jisung, standing to leave, just smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for-”

“Whatever,” Minho says, crossing his arms. He puffs out his cheeks in a pout and glares at Changbin, hoping he’ll change his mind. He does not. “Why are you still here? Are you deaf, eh?” he asks loudly, leaning over the counter and clapping his hands in front of Minho’s face. “Out! Shoo!” he repeats, and like a scared crow Minho retreats towards the door, whining as he does. Jisung follows suit.

Changbin lied. The weather isn’t lovely tonight at all, it’s freezing cold and the moon is covered almost in full by gray clouds. Jisung sighs to himself, shivering, and sighs. Hopefully he'll make it home before any rain starts. He looks up ahead at Minho, who’s walking quickly a few feet in front of him. “I didn’t think you knew Changbin.”

Minho stops abruptly and spins on his heel, swinging his arms at his side before resting his hands on his hips and widening his stance. It’s surprisingly intimidating. Jisung stops, and waits for him to speak. “Dahyun introduced us. Oh, did she not tell you?” He asks, tilting his head. “Strange. I wonder if there’s anything else she doesn’t tell you.”

Jisung frowns. Minho’s standing closer to him now, his back straighter than usual, and a smile on his face. Not a happy smile, though. It’s the smile of a man who (thinks) he knows more than Jisung. “Several things, probably.”

“Strange,” he repeats, emphasising it more this time. “Don’t you find it weird that your fiancé is keeping secrets?”

Jisung pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and tries to figure out what Minho could possibly be talking about. Dahyun doesn’t keep secrets from him? Well, nothing major, anyway. Everyone’s entitled to some privacy, even from their-

Oh. _Oh!_ Realization hits Jisung like a ton of bricks dropped straight from the sky, directly onto his head. 

Minho must think Jisung is straight.

He doesn’t intend to, but Jisung sighs, and Minho’s glare intensifies as a result. “No, not really. I love my girlfriend, I’m secure in our relationship, I support her in whomever she chooses to associate with! Should I not?”

“God, you suck,” Minho groans, kicking a stone halfway across the street as he picks up his pace and begins walking forward again. His arms are crossed comically tight and high up his chest, and his entire body seems to be curling in on itself from an emotion Jisung can’t quite decipher. He pins it as a cross between embarrassment from frustration, and quietly giggles to himself. Sure, he’s sort of mean, but Jisung finds it endearing.

Perhaps that’s simply another sign from the universe that he **needs** to prove Dahyun wrong. 

“It’s cold,” he murmurs, his mind unable to produce thoughts with more substance but his mouth still desperate to speak. “I hope it doesn’t start-”

Almost on queue, those aforementioned grey clouds open, and heavy rain begins pouring from the sky. Jisung’s next word is barely audible. “-raining…”

“Gee, thanks, Your Highness,” Minho drawls, and Jisung has a feeling he’s not actually thankful. “You jinxed it. You jinxed the weather, and now we have to walk back in the rain. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

A majority of people like Han Jisung. Everyone who knows him personally thinks he’s sweet, and almost all girls around town, even some boys, too, regard him as a heartthrob. Still, there are a few who, simply put, hate him. And that’s fine! Everyone is allowed to have an opinion, Jisung knows this. Besides, the list of people who hate Han Jisung is small, so small in fact that he can name both of its occupants. 

Number one is Lee Minho, of course. He still hasn’t figured out exactly why Minho hates him so, but he’s determined to change this. Unlike the second, Jisung still has hope for a friendship, or even just a mutual respect with Minho. However, Jisung buried his hope of reconciliation for the other member of his hate club several years ago. Who is this person?

Well, Jisung isn’t sure, not exactly. Up until this point, he hasn’t really had definitive proof that a higher power has been holding a personal grudge against him, it had only been speculation. But as the rain beats down against his skin and soaks every inch of him from his perfectly styled hair to his perfectly shined shoes, he decides it’s probably God.

No, it’s definitely God. Or Zeus, or Mother Nature, or maybe just the general Universe. Whatever it is, it hates Han Jisung’s guts.

“Sorry, fuck,” he says, cursing under his breath. Jisung would love to be somebody else. Anybody, just not himself. “I was kidding, dumbass,” Minho says, slowing down a little but still maintaining a slight distance. “I don’t _actually_ think you control the weather.”

Almost in spite of himself, Minho laughs, and Jisung’s ready for lighting the strike the spot where he stands and put him out of his misery right here and now. “Ah, right. That makes sense,” he says to himself, and again Minho laughs. Jisung feels himself blushing. “Yeah, it does.”

For a few moments, nothing more happens. It’s not silent because the lashing rain is deafeningly loud, but neither speak. Minho’s run out of insults for the night. Well, not exactly; but he's run out of motivation to deliver them. And the desire to talk has fallen from Jisung like the droplets of water now running down against his face and onto the ground.

Finally, Jisung sneezes, his either body trembling as it does so. It's strangely pathetic. How, like a nervous child, he sneezes into cupped hands, which then fidget nervously around his waist as he hugs himself in comfort. He snivels miserably as he treks onwards, the palace still far from sight. Whatever bastard designed the place should’ve been shot and killed immediately after presenting the blueprint, he thinks, shivering as the rain turns to hail.

Minho stops. Jisung would’ve walked directly into him, if not for the fact he looks up only after a few seconds to see Minho’s back barely an inch away from him. Then, he turns around, takes his jacket off, and throws it as Jisung. Jisung freezes. He looks at the wet leather crumpled in his arms, then at Minho, then back at the jacket. He continues dramatically shifting his gaze from one to the other without a word until Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Put it on?” He suggests, tapping his foot impatiently against the pavement. Jisung’s mouth hangs agape in shock. “But.. but…”

“Go on, take your time,” he encourages, his voice akin to that of a preschool teacher waiting for a student to confess that he’s just eaten an entire box of crayons and is in desperate need of medical attention. “But… You… No, I-I can’t wear this-”

“Why? Not high class enough?”

“No, no! It’s not that at all!” He says quickly, his eyes wide. Minho can’t help laugh. “Seriously, just put it on, you’re gonna freeze,” he says, a lot less teasing than he had been prior. Jisung’s heart is pounding.

“Not that I care,” Minho adds, and Jisung nods knowingly. For the first time all night Minho can’t seem to hold eye contact. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says, and Minho nods. “Yeah, good. But, y’know, I’m sure someone else probably does.”

“But won’t you be cold?” Jisung asks. He sounds so naive, it makes Minho want to yell. He shrugs and looks Jisung in the eyes, completely nonchalant. “I’m not a pussy. So stop being a little bitch and put it on.” 

Reluctantly, Jisung obliges, a smile creeping onto his face as he feels it sticking to his skin. It’s comfortable. More importantly, it’s a gift. He knows he’ll have to return it, it would simply be unkind of him not to, but his heart feels happy in the temporary security of Minho’s jacket. He doesn’t even care that he called him a pussy. Okay, maybe he cares a little, but Jisung decides not to think about that for now. He’s too busy grinning at his feet.

From a foot or two ahead, Minho is internally reasoning with himself. He’s fucking freezing. Why did he do that? Why, what reason had he beyond his own stupidity to gift his jacket to Han Fucking Jisung of all people, especially on a night like this?

_It’s because you’re a good person_ , he tells himself, but that doesn’t sit right. _It’s because if you come down with a cold, you might get a few days off work_. But that isn’t right either. He’s worked while ill before, and if anything, he’s only made his life more difficult. _It’s because you’re a victim of the monarchy._ That sounds a little more reasonable. 

Minho has been convinced so frequently and fervently by the system that he should be willing to give up his possessions to royalty that giving Jisung his jacket wasn’t even a conscious decision. Even though he purposefully handed it to him, Jisung still inadvertently robbed him, just like Minho robbed that very same jacket from some random drunk man only minutes before walking into Changbin’s pub.

Perhaps it’s karma?

Minho laughs to himself, and Jisung stares at him. Then, somehow, the rain becomes targeted. It’s still lashing down against the front and side of Minho’s body, but his head is no longer being hit. He looks straight up and sees fabric. He then looks to the side, and sees Jisung’s ducked head looking up and grinning at him, his hair matted to his face, his eyes shining, holding his jacket above their heads.

Minho shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress a smile, and lifts his hand to hold up the far side above his head. Jisung straightens his posture giggles. _Jesus_ , Minho thinks, replaying the sound in his mind. _That was disgusting. I hope he does it again._

It doesn’t take much longer after this for them to reach the palace gates, and when they do, Jisung stuffs Minho's jacket back into his hands. “Thank you,” he says, his voice matching the soft expression on his face perfectly. “Really, I mean it.”

“Don’t get sappy, this isn’t even mine,” he says, and immediately regrets it. “Oh?”

Well. Why stop now?

“Yeah, I stole it! You didn’t think I actually owned this, right?” he laughs, and Jisung’s face falls. “You… you stole it? Does that make me an accessory to the crime?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re above the law, princey,” he says, but the look of shock on Jisung’s face remains. He’s paralysed. Minho can’t stop laughing. “Come on, I had good reason! The guy who had this before me was so fuckin’ mean!”

“Was he mean _because_ you took his jacket?” Jisung inquires in a small voice, rain still dripping down his face. Minho just smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well! Thank you anyway!” He says, sounding flustered. Minho knows that he probably shouldn’t have told Jisung about that, because if he wanted to, he could get Minho exiled within a few minutes of letting anyone else know. But he doesn’t feel afraid. Minho knows that won’t happen, that Jisung wouldn’t dream of ratting him out.

Because Han Jisung is a pussy. 

Also, he hates him. So when Minho walks inside, his jacket draped around his shoulders, he isn’t smiling because it smells like Jisung. He’s smiling because he’s done for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided to start updating three days a week instead of two, so i'll be posting a chapter on friday now too! i hope u enjoyed, thank you for reading~


	4. FOUR : Only Thing I've Ever Stolen Is A Heart (And Many Other Things)

Dahyun has always had a bit of a thing for Chaeyoung. Every bitch in Baltimore can see this. What they can’t see, however, is why. Chaeyoug’s great, but really, she’s nothing special. Jisung especially has never understood it. How Dahyun could have almost any girl she wants, but she instead chooses to waste her life pining over the one girl who doesn’t reciprocate.

Still, it’s fine. Dahyun knows Chaeyoung doesn’t owe her any romantic love, and even though it hurts a little, she can cope with it.

She’s totally fine.

“Dahyun,” Chaeyoung half-yells, waving a hand in front of her face and forcing her back into reality. She whips her head around and scans the room for anything threatening. When she looks ahead all she sees is Chaeyoung, messy hair falling in her face, smiling. “Good, you’re still awake.”

Dahyun laughs sheepishly and blushes, averting her gaze for a moment. “Sorry about that,” she mumbles, meeting Chaeyoung’s eyes again. “Don’t worry. So, are you gonna help or are you just gonna sit there and keep staring at me?”

“I might just keep staring,” she says, and Chaeyoug pouts. Dahyun knows how it sounds. She means it to tease her, but she really would love to just look at her. “Do you think you can multitask?” she asks hopefully, and after gazing thoughtfully into the distance for a few moments, Dahyun shrugs. “If I have to. What do you need me to do, anyway? I thought you liked doing your hair by yourself?”

“I do,” Chaeyoung says, and Dahyun squints her eyes in confusion. On the many, many occasions where Chaeyoung has bleached (or otherwise destroyed) her hair, she’s never asked Dahyun to help. Maybe it’s because her haircuts tend to be impulsive, meaning she doesn’t usually have the time to ask. But Dahyun can’t shake the feeling it’s something else. 

“It’s kinda boring, though. Besides, I miss you! I feel like we haven’t spoken since I got here,” she sighs, and Dahyun nods. “Partially my fault, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s entirely your fault,” she says, lightly punching Dahyun in the shoulder. Dahyun whines. “Hey, be nice! I was just, y’know… giving you time to settle in!”

“You didn’t give Minho time to settle in,” she says quietly, and Dahyun could swear she sounds jealous. The thought makes her heart race. “That’s different and you know it. I couldn’t leave him unattended, he’d get himself executed on day two!” Chaeyoung stops being angry for a moment to giggle. “Fair. Now enough about Minho, we’re spending time together, just us! Whether you like it or not!”

In theory, this sounds wonderful. And for a few brief moments, it is wonderful, because for a few brief moments, Dahyun and Chaeyoung are alone. Dahyun watches as she applies bleach to a single section in the front of her hair, inhaling the bathroom’s scent of chemicals and paint thinner. It’s nice, in a way. Chaeyoung hums idly as Dahyun props herself up on the counter next to the sink and swings her feet. She’s perfectly satisfied just staring at her, the two of them basking in each other's presence without a word.

Then, there’s a noise from outside, the sound of wheezing and frantic knocking on a wooden door. Dahyun stops swinging her feet and looks at Chaeyoung, and Chaeyoung freezes to look back at her, and within a moment of the noise arising she knows exactly what it is. Dahyun sighs loudly. “Come in, you bitch.”

The door flies open and Minho jumps in as quickly as he can, pushing his back against the door to keep it closed. He slides down onto the floor and as soon as he reaches the ground, looks up at Dahyun, and giggles. “Great to see you too!”

“I was with you all night?” she asks, already defeated, and Minho nods. “You know me so well.”

As soon as Minho finishes speaking, he’s jolted forward by someone pushing at the door. “Open up!” the man pushing yells, and Dahyun groans, leaning down to take Minho’s hand and haul him up. He stands beside her and desperately tries to catch his breath as (once again) the door busts open. 

Standing in the frame is a man much taller and stronger than Minho wearing all black-presumably one of this castle’s many bodyguards-with an expression of anger and contempt on his face. He’s breathing almost as heavily as Minho is, and Dahyun feigns surprise at why. “Your highness,” he starts, resting his hands on his knees. The anger on his face falls into soft bafflement as Dahyun quirks an eyebrow at him. “Do you know who this guy is?”

She laughs politely, and gently pats Minho’s back. He looks at her pleadingly and Dahyun speaks through gritted teeth. “Of course I do! He’s a good friend of mine, why do you ask? He hasn’t done something… bad, has he?”

Chaeyoung shouldn’t find this funny. She’s watched Dahyun cover for Minho on numerous occasions, even before he had started working for her family, but the change in her demeanour and her feigned naivety never cease to make Chaeyoung laugh. 

“Madam, he’s a thief! He stole that jacket!”

Dahyun tuts, and shakes her head. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I think you have the wrong man. Tell me, when did this happen?”

“Last night,” he says. “Took it right from a stall, plenty of people saw, he-”

“No, no, that can’t be right. Minho was with me all night. Truly, I’m so sorry, and I hope you find the culprit immediately,” she starts, her voice soft. Dahyun moves down from the counter and steps towards the guard to hold his hands comfortingly. He looks down at her hands cupping his, then up to her face, and her smile is so sweet it almost feels taunting. “But he hasn’t done anything. Trust me.”

She lets go, and the bodyguard’s hands fall limp by his side. His mouth hangs agape in shock and awe, and behind Dahyun, Minho is unable to wipe the grin off his face. He’s quite proud of himself. “My apologies, your highness. Thank you for your help.”

“Of course. Let me know when you find him, will you? Thank you, sir, and good luck.”

He trudges miserably out of the room and once Dahyun is certain he’s far from earshot, she groans, slams the door, and looks at Minho. He’s smiling still, that little prick. “You,” she starts, walking towards him with her arms outstretched and hands shaking. Minho scoots further back, sits up on the counter, until Dahyun has him cornered. The smile falls from his face as she grabs hold of either one of his shoulders and throttles him.

“Again, Minho? You’re doing this again?” She asks, exasperated, and he whines. She stops shaking Minho to allow him to respond. “Well, technically, this is my first time stealing from this particular kingdom, so you can’t blame me too much.”

“Yes, actually, I can, and I will. I’m blaming you really hard right now.”

“Dahyun,” he says. She lifts herself up to sit beside him but doesn’t make eye contact. “Is someone talking to me?” She asks, and Chaeyoung laughs, leaning back in her chair. “You’re like children.”

“Uh, not me,” she argues, elbowing Minho in the side. He winces and immediately pushes her. Dahyun pays no attention to him and continues speaking. “At least I know how to be a decent person.”

“And I know how to not be a sheep!”

“I’m not a sheep!”

“That’s exactly what a sheep would say!” He yells, and within moments Chaeyoung is wedging herself between the two to prevent a physical fight, holding an arm out on either side of her. “Enough! Both of you!”

The pair fall silent. Both are staring at their feet, too angry to look at each other but too ashamed to look at Chaeyoung. “Minho, apologize.”

He sighs and, rather reluctantly, looks at Dahyun. She continues staring at the ground. Chaeyoung regrets asking for company. “I’m sorry, Dahyun,” he says in a small voice, and she doesn’t react. Chaeyoug takes this as her cue to say more. “What are you sorry for?”

Minho has always had an affinity for things that aren’t his. In spite of how that sounds, he swears it’s nothing unusual. He enjoys stealing, yes, but it’s never malicious, never anything a person would miss. Minho’s found that most of the time, a person only cares for something they’ve lost if it means they can blame someone else for taking it. That’s always the case with rich people. They’re all so blessed, with full stomachs and full wallets, but their heads are so empty, and it makes Minho so sick. He’s not a kleptomaniac by any means. Minho simply takes himself as more of a Robin Hood, a small justice, a leader to the unbegun revolution.

He wasn’t always like this, though.

When Minho was a child, he held the same stance on respect as everyone else. And while of course there were variations from person to person, the fundamentals were always the exact same. They went as follows:

  1. Respect your elders (unless they’re gay)
  2. Respect the people around you (unless they’re gay)
  3. Respect other people’s property (unless it belongs to someone who’s gay. Obviously.)



And for the first few years of his life, he had no problem obliging by these unspoken rules. And because of his compliance he was seen as a good kid. He was, really, wonderful. Top of his class, mature for his age all throughout school, and most importantly, respectful. With a mind like his and an attitude to match it, there wasn’t a single adult in Minho’s life who wasn’t anticipating great things from him. They all thought he’d head to college, study something grandiose, marry a sweet dumb lady, have a few kids, and live a fulfilling (albeit nondescript) life. He’d be a good, contributing member of society. 

Then, Minho hit puberty, and when he learned what a boner was, those laws of respect no longer respected him. So, he decided not to respect them either.

“It’s fine,” Dahyun murmurs, kicking her feet against the wooden cabinet beneath her. “Sorry for calling you a bitch.”

Minho giggles. “It was warranted. Besides, you don’t need to apologize, it’s my fault for getting caught.”

“Glad we agree!” Dahyun says, finally looking up. Chaeyoung leans back so they can make eye contact, and relaxes her arms, letting one hand return to her lap and another rest on Dahyun’s knee. “Hug it out?” Minho suggests, and just as Dahyun is about to lunge across her, Chaeyoung slides back down and turns to look at them patting each other’s backs. She can’t help but smile at the sight. “Dumbasses,” she mumbles, and Dahyun draws back to look at her. “It’s okay to admit you’re jealous.”

“Speaking of jealousy,” Chaeyoung says quickly, and both Minho and Dahyun scoot over a little closer to her, already intrigued. She sits down in front of the mirror again and smiles at herself. “Do you still wanna have sex with Chan’s boyfriend?”

Dahyun laughs, and Minho hides his face in his hands, groaning. “Please shut up.”

“Definite yes.”

“I don’t consciously want to!” He says, kicking the air. “It’s like… Hyunjin, for example! That guy’s hot. I don’t want to date him, obviously, he annoys the shit out of me. But he’s still really hot.”

“That makes sense,” Dahyun says wistfully, and Chaeyoung hums a note of confusion. “Does it? Because I don’t get it,” she says, and Minho just looks at her.

“It’s easy. Okay, let me try again, in a way you might actually understand this time. Dahyun’s not in love with you anymore, right?”

Dahyun and Chaeyoung look at each other and unanimously shrug, both making strange, uncertain grumbling noises. “You could say that, yeah,” Dahyun says, her voice about four octaves higher than usual. Minho decides not to analyse it and to instead continue with his original point (although he’s no longer sure it makes sense.)

“But, if you had to repopulate the planet or something, she wouldn’t complain.”

“That makes even less sense,” Chaeyoung says, and Dahyun, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned into a confused frown, nods. “Yeah, you’ve lost me. How could we repopulate the planet if we-”

“Nevermind. Point is, I don’t wanna date Felix anymore. Not that I ever did, really, I just think he’s…” Minho trails off and sighs dreamily.

“I think,” Dahyun starts as she looks down at Chaeyoung, sounding a little unsure still. “He just finds him attractive.”

“Oh! I get that! What does Hyunjin have to do with it?” She asks, and Minho claps his hands together in frustration. “Nothing, that was just another example of an attractive man! He’s objectively hot!”

“Do you think _Jisung_ is hot?” Dahyun asks suddenly. Minho’s jaw drops. He turns his head slowly to look at her, disgust evident on his face, and blinks. “Y’know, objectively”

Minho doesn’t have to think about it. Because actually, he’s already thought it, every day since he arrived he’s thought about it, every night before he sleeps he’s thought about it, and sometimes, even when he’s not consciously thinking about it, the thought still lingers far in the back of his mind and he simply can’t seem to get rid of it. He pauses for several movements before finally answering.

“Well, objectively, I suppose.” The way he pitches up his voice a little on the last word leaves both Dahyun and Chaeyoung waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, staring at nothing, thinking about it.

“How, though? What makes him attractive?” Chaeyoung asks, and Minho shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies, mentally tracing Jisung’s features in his mind. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, think about it now,” Dahyun suggests, and Minho sighs. There are a lot of possible options to her earlier question-but the first thing that comes to Minho’s mind are his eyes. If they were on any other face he’s sure they’d look the same, if not better, but there’s something about Jisung’s ever-wide, ever-sparkling eyes that Minho can’t help but appreciate. “He looks like an animal of some kind,” Minho says eventually, and Dahyun, again, laughs. It’s loud and hearty, and Minho is confused. “That was basically a compliment!”

“In what universe is that a compliment?” she asks through giggles, and he shrugs. “Be specific! God, you could’ve just called him a boar for all I know!”

“Ugh, I wish,” he groans. It sounds shallow, but perhaps Minho would have an easier time committing to hating Jisung were he slightly less pretty? No, that isn’t it. When he breaks Jisung down like a geode, the individual aspects of his person really don’t infuriate Minho at all, it’s simply the combination of each that causes him to feel such resentment.

That and the fact he’s a prince, but judging solely based on societal position sounds a bit mean out of context, so Minho likes to have a few more excuses.

“You think he’s attractive, too, though! Everyone does. I’m normal,” he says, crossing his arms and Dahyun punches him lightly in the arm. “A normal sheep.”

“Touché.”

“I should probably wash this out now,” Chaeyoung says, gesturing towards the section of her hair still covered in tinfoil. “Do you want help?” Dahyun asks hopefully, and with a smile Chaeyoung shakes her head. “Nah, I’ll do it myself. Thanks, though. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah! Come find me when it’s done. You’re gonna look great.” Dahyun smiles, but Minho can tell she’s a little hurt. He pats her back as she slides off the counter back onto the ground, following suit a moment or so after. He feels quite bad, honestly. Not only has he made Dahyun an accomplice to one of his many robberies, but he’s ruined her half-date, too. “Hey, thank you,” he says as they slip out of the bathroom and make their way out through the corridor. “Huh?”

“For lying to cover my ass. Again. And, y’know, bringing me here.”

“You have a really bad way of showing appreciation, Minho,” she laughs, resting her hand on his shoulder as they amble on aimlessly through the seemingly endless hall. “Well how can I improve, Your Highness?” he asks, looking at her inquisitively.

“First off, try not to steal as much, please? And if you do, at least don’t get caught. That should go without saying.”

Minho sighs. “It _should_ go without saying, I really fucked up last night! I’m rusty. I’ll get better, though, I just need to polish up my skills a little.”

“That’s the spirit! You, me, let’s hit the town, take some shit. We’ll put it back before anyone notices, but it’s a start. Sounds good?” She asks, and Minho gives her a thumbs up. “Perfect. If we get caught, I’ll take the blame, die a noble death honouring my Princess. The revolution begins once you execute King Han in revenge.”

“I swear you can read my mind,” she laughs. Minho smiles at her, his expression soft. “Alright, what else? There’s definitely more than that.”

“Oh, the list is so fucking long dude,” she says, and Minho laughs nervously. “One thing at a time, though. Stop being mean to my fiance.”

“Dahyun, you know I can’t do that,” he groans. “You can at least try! Come on, the guy’s fragile, you’re gonna break him.”

“I don’t see why that’s such a bad thing.”

“If you kill Jisung, I can’t marry him, and if I can’t marry him, I won’t become Nuhan’s new Queen, and if I don’t become Queen, then I’m taking you and Chaeng back home. And we don’t want that one bit, do we Minho?”

Minho shivers. He didn’t notice it while she was talking, but Dahyun’s grip on his shoulder has now become extremely tight, and the smile on her face conveys an emotion he doesn’t want to feel. He nods slowly but certainly. Satisfied, she relaxes her hand and looks away from him. “Also he’s a good friend. My best friend, actually, and I don’t want you to hurt him. Besides, he’s pretty cool sometimes! Can you try to be nice to him, for me?” she begs, and Minho sighs heartily. “I guess,” he mumbles, and Dahyun pets his head. “Good boy. Wait, what time is it?”

“4:29, why?”

“Shit,” she says loudly, and immediately lets go of Minho before picking up speed, beginning a sprint across the corridor and sharply turning to take the stairs. Minho will never understand how she runs in those heels. “Duty calls, bro, duty calls! Tell Chaeyoung she’s hot! See you later!” She calls, walking down two steps at a time. 

“I won’t! Have fun!” he yells back, but Dahyun’s already gone, and Minho’s left to go actually do his job.


	5. FIVE : My Big Fat Nuhan Wedding

“Ah, there you are!” Jisung says with a relieved sigh, wiping sweat from his brow, and Dahyun smiles back at him. She takes a seat down next to him and nods politely at all other attendants, whispering a quiet apology for being late as she does. Jisung’s leg is twitching beneath the table beside her. “I’m terribly sorry to halt the meeting even further,” Jisung starts, his hands fidgeting. He looks to the King, and in spite of his struggles to make eye contact, stares straight at him. “But could you please excuse myself and Dahyun for a few moments? I’d like to talk to her, if that’s alright.”

“For fuck’s sake,” King Han sighs under his breath. He rolls his eyes and leans forward against the table. “Fine, go. Be quick,” he says, gesturing towards the door, “you’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

Jisung nods the entire way from his chair to hall outside, tightly gripping Dahyun’s hand, breathing shallow and quick. “What the fuck, Dahyun?” he asks in a loud whisper once they’re out, and he flinches upon realization he may have been heard. Dahyun carefully shuts the door behind them. “I’m sorry, Ji, I got distracted and completely forgot it was today.”

“I’ve just spent the past thirty minutes trying to explain why you weren’t here! Could you not have had the common courtesy to at least, I don’t know, break your arm before showing up?”

“Calm down, hey,” she says, taking a gentle hold of his shoulders. Throughout the course of their friendship, Dahyun’s seen Jisung like this many times, and as a result of this, she’s normally able to console him. She knows his pattern of behaviour backwards when he panics, and right now he’s at his peak. She breathes slowly and deeply to encourage him to do the same. “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here now. Okay?”

“No, Dahyun, it’s not okay, they want my head on a platter!” he says, panting. He looks like he’s just run a marathon. “What were you even doing? Do you actually have an excuse, or did you leave me to the wolves for nothing? Do you just hate me?”

“No, God, shut up. I was with Chaeyoung and then Minho got in trouble with a guard and I had t-”

“Minho!” he exclaims, then falls to his knees, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m going to be arrested,” he whispers, and Dahyun just hums in confusion. “I’m done for. He committed a crime and I knew and I did nothing. It’s finally happening, I’m finally going to be executed.”

As if she’s a parent talking to an upset child, Dahyun squats down next to Jisung and pulls his hands down from his face to look at him. He’s tearing up. “I already took care of it. It’s done, everything’s okay. Hey, I’m sure the meeting isn’t going that badly, what happened?”

“I don’t even know anymore, man,” he sighs, pushing himself off the ground and standing up. Dahyun does the same. “I told them I didn’t know where you were and then I said you were in bed with an unspecified illness and now they think I’m lying and probably having an affair.”

“That’s a stretch,” she laughs, but Jisung remains deadpan. He looks hollow, like if you were to pick him up and rattle him around you’d hear nothing moving inside of him. “Tell that to your mother.”

“She’s not here, is she?” Dahyun asks, suddenly panicked, and Jisung just nods. Dahyun groans. “God fucking damn it. Okay, no, let’s get this over with,” she says, tugging at Jisung’s arm to bring him back inside but he stays still. “I don’t want to go back in there,” he whispers almost angrily. “Do we have a choice?”

He looks at her, and focuses on the muffled sound of voices inside the other room. Jisung shakes his head. They make their way back in without another word.

“Oh, lovely, you’ve finally made time for us. How nice of you,” Dahyun’s mother comments, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Dahyun looks at her and smiles, not because she’s happy, but because she’s used to it, and she knows how to ease it. King Han is an asshole, this has been established on all fronts of Jisung’s life, but Queen Kim is truly something else. 

Simply put, she’s a bitch. 

Jisung would argue she’s worse than his father. This is up for debate, of course, but it’s undeniable they both suck. Jisung squeezes Dahyun’s hand underneath the table and she squeezes back, looking away from her mother and over towards King Han. One thing about meeting in Jisung’s kingdom as opposed to her own, is that her mother becomes mildly less cocky while standing on ground she doesn’t own. 

“Are we done with the distractions yet?” King Han asks, and Jisung stares straight down, squirming around in his seat. “I’d like an answer, Jisung,” he says, and Jisung whips his head up to nod so hard it makes his head hurt. “Yes sir, sorry,” he says, and King Han leans back in his chair. “Good. You need to be more considerate of others, son,” he starts, and Jisung wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why act like it does?” He asks. Dahyun opens his mouth to speak but a pleading glare from Jisung stops her before she can even begin. Jisung takes a deep breath before speaking. “I was being selfish, and I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he says, and in the tense silence Dahyun swears she can hear Jisung’s rapid heartbeat, and she can feel her hand going dead from how tightly Jisung is holding it. She runs her thumb along his hand and he softens his grip a little, his eyes fixated intently on nothing. “Well, now that that’s over it,” he starts again, and quietly Jisung exhales. “Would you care to enlighten us on what took you so long?”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, I’d been sick all morning-lady problems, y’know? And-”

“That’s fine,” he says, and Dahyun smiles. She knew mentioning her period would silence him. “Really, I wish I could’ve gotten here on time, but the tremendous amount of blood escaping from my-”

“No, it’s okay, Dahyun. We understand. Shall we move on?” he asks, and the entire committee of guests nod. Dahyun giggles. “Jisung tells us you haven’t decided on a date for the wedding yet,” Queen Kim interjects, and Dahyun nods. “Indeed we haven’t. When do you suggest?”

“I think the sooner the better,” her father, who had been sitting there watching in silent up until this point, says. There are a few murmurs of varying opinions across the board, but no one says anything of use for a few moments. “I couldn’t agree more,” King Han says. Before he’s even realized his mistake, Jisung is sighing, and all eyes are on him. “Is there a problem?”

“No, of course not! Sooner the better, yeah,” he agrees. Dahyun can’t remember the last time he looked so far gone. “Can’t wait to marry my fiance,” he adds, laughing a little and nudging her in the side, almost as if he wants everyone to know he’s lying. “Me either,” she says, politely laughing. “It’s gonna be so cool to get married to you soon. As soon as possible. Sooner the better!”

Dahyun knows what’s going on.

Jisung is glitching.

Sometimes, when Jisung is out of his element, he stops working. The nerves take over and his brain overheats, causing him to lose all functionality for a few moments until someone (usually Dahyun) changes the subject and allows him time to recuperate. It doesn’t happen enough for anyone to make a note of it, but it does happen enough to no longer catch anyone off guard. “I think we should wait a few months,” Dahyun suggests suddenly, and her mother scoffs. “A few months? Are you sure he’ll still want you to marry you in a few months?”

In one swift movement Dahyun’s standing, slamming her fists down, and glaring at her from across the table. Everyone except Queen Kim flinches. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

“Darling, sit down, you’re making a fool of yourself,” she says softly. Dahyun continues to glare at her. “And don’t make that face. You don’t look pretty when you’re angry.”

For a few moments, Dahyun fumbles. She clenches her fists and lifts them, entirely unsure of what to do with them, and her expression twists and contorts through a variety of emotions. Eventually, she just groans, flopping back down into her seat in defeat. 

In any other circumstance, she’d run off, either back to her room or to a small, far-off village up North, but right now she can’t. She owes it to Jisung to stay with him. And so, she does. She sits there, arms crossed, nails digging into her palm, tapping her foot against the ground, but staying put. Jisung pats her back meekly.

Dahyun is a grown woman. She knows how to cook (kind of), clean (circa Minho, approx. one week ago), and take care of herself. She technically has a boyfriend, and as soon as they tie the knot, she’ll be Queen. So with all that in mind, the way her mother speaks to her really doesn’t make much sense. Everyone sees it. And everyone knows how bizarre it is. But still, no one says anything. No one has ever said anything.

It’s fine, though, because Dahyun can cope with it. She doesn’t have any other option. 

“How about January?” Jisung suggests finally, his voice small. January seems perfect to him-three, four months away, enough time to prepare but still too short a span of time for anyone to begin suspecting he’s a liar. He looks at Dahyun hopefully, and she shrugs. He can’t tell what she thinks. She’s probably not even paying attention, she’s too busy mentally thinking of a comeback for her next verbal altercation.

“You’ll get married in January,” King Han announces, as if the idea was his own. Jisung can’t bring himself to care. “I still think that’s too far. Men are fickle, what if he changes his mind before then?”

“I won’t,” Jisung says. And even though he’s not attracted to women, he means it. Marrying Dahyun is the best choice for everyone. His father will be satisfied as he steps down from his position as King, Dahyun will have control and no longer have to live as less than her mother, and the Nuhan Kingdom will have two new leaders. A Queen who might actually do good for them, and Jisung. Really, this is for the best. He knows it is.

But something still lingers. It’s not a thought perse, his mind isn’t actively waging war on the prospect of his wedding, but a feeling that resides deep in his gut, a feeling that tells Jisung that this isn’t what he wants. He’s tried to dismiss it but to no avail. Despite his regretful status as an adult, Jisung still feels too young, too hopeful, too… Not attracted to women to want to marry Dahyun. So he thinks about it, and wonders what he wants, only to realize that he isn’t sure.

Jisung doesn’t think he’ll ever be sure.

More than that, Jisung doesn’t think he wants anything more than to be left alone.

“I would never change my mind about this,” he speaks, more conviction in his voice than ever before. Still, he looks at the ground. What measly amount of confidence he’s pretending to have will surely shrivel up and die the moment he dares lift his gaze to his father. “I wouldn’t have proposed if I wasn’t certain I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. So please, don’t think that I would. Thank you.”

“January it is, I suppose,” Queen Kim sighs, and Jisung breaks into a relieved smile. He isn’t even sure why he’s relieved, considering he partially wants to just call the whole thing off, but alas. It’s a small victory. “Dahyun, look at me,” she says, and it’s more of an order than a request. Dahyun begrudgingly obliges.

“Aren’t you going to smile?”

She feels like a child. A small, babbling infant child, with no authority over her own person, a porcelain doll that must be watched and cased in fear it cracks or becomes possessed by the spirit of an angry Victorian girl. 

Dahyun smiles. Not because she wants to, but because it might get this over with. “You don’t mind taking care of the organization, do you, King Han?” she asks, turning towards the table’s head to look at him. He looks taken aback, but doesn’t argue yet. “I just have so much to do myself and, what with being a silly little woman and all, I don’t think I could handle the extra work.”

Dahyun’s voice drips with a certain sarcasm that nobody but Jisung seems to detect, and he giggles a little as she speaks. “Don’t you worry about that,” he smiles. “We have plenty of people to take care of that. Taking care of that son of mine is a tiring enough job for anyone.”

Just because Jisung’s used to it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Dahyun laughs politely and reaches down to hold his hand once more, and Jisung doesn’t move. His hands feel sweaty and cold against hers and she can only imagine what he’s thinking. “Don’t say that,” she says softly, her voice so gentle it masks her boiling rage completely. “Jisung is a lovely man, and I hope you can see that once we’re wed.”

King Han huffs out a laugh, and Jisung can feel the anger emanating off of him. He wants to get mad at Dahyun, but he can’t. Her intentions are always pure and even if they’ll end up hurting him later on, for a few moments she makes him feel better, and that’s all that matters. “You say that, but, I know my boy better than you though, trust me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do! What’s his favourite colour?”

Nobody speaks.

“Sorry, I was thinking that’s such an obvious piece of information, of course you’d know, but I guess not,” she says with a laugh. Jisung glares at her, but it’s too late. She’s a music box ballerina that’s been wound to the brink of her strings breaking and she won’t be able to stop until she’s served her course.

“If you don’t know that, I’m sure you at least know his favourite season. His shoe size? What does he do for fun? Say, when your son’s birthday, sir? I’m dying to know!”

King Han stares at her with an open mouth. Again, it’s quiet, if not for the deafening sound of Dahyun’s heel tapping rapidly against the floor. She laughs, then sighs as if she’s just had a revelation. “Right, of course, my bad! He’s not worth listening to, is he? I’m wasting my time. Jisung, do you think we should call off the engagement?”

Jisung doesn’t respond. Right now, he would rather be anywhere else. Dahyun stares at him. She doesn’t know what she expects him to do next, but it certainly isn’t “bolt out of the room as fast as humanly possible.”

But that’s exactly what he does. Jisung’s gaze shifts quickly from one end of the room to the next, to the ground from the ceiling, and then towards the door. “Excuse me,” he whispers, pushing his chair out and immediately running out. Dahyun sighs. She begins walking after him, but stops in the doorway to gaze wistfully back at King Han.

“It’s red, by the way.”

Jisung is long gone by the time Dahyun’s out looking for him, and because this castle is so egregiously large, she has no idea where to start on looking for him. Down one end of the corridor and up a flight of stairs is his room, and while that seems like a good place to check, Dahyun knows it’s too obvious. He couldn’t have gone far, at least, and there’s only so many places he could be. She pauses and looks the other way.

To the other side of her is the kitchen, a pretty reasonable escape route - Jisung always likes to eat when he’s sad. But it looks busy at the moment, and no matter how upset, she can’t imagine Jisung willingly entering anywhere crowded. Then, she looks forward. Dahyun doesn’t even need to debate it before sprinting.

In the past twenty minutes or so, Minho’s had a lot of time to think. Maybe Dahyun is right! Maybe he _is_ going too hard on Jisung. Maybe he’s just a goofy, fragile idiot, who’s actually pretty cool sometimes. He doubts it, but he trusts Dahyun. And he wants to make her happy.

So, when he sees Jisung sitting on the grass with his face in his hands, he decides the best thing he could do is approach him. “Hey, princey,”

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” He yells, lifting his head and slamming his hands down beside him. His eyes are closed as he continues. “Can you not leave me alone for two _goddamn_ minutes? Please?” He asks, voice cracking. The look of anger on his face drops into wide-eyed regret as soon as he sees who’s standing before him. Minho’s smile turns to a frown, and his shocked sadness quickly spells into anger. 

“Well fuck you too, dude!”

“Wait, shit, fuck, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it,” he says, laughing out of frustration, and just as he does he sees Dahyun approaching. “Hey, Princess! Your boyfriend’s a dick!”

“I’m not in the mood, Min,” she speaks through gritted teeth in a voice low and venomous, and again, Minho laughs. He’s more baffled than anything else. “Of fucking course,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Can’t blame me for trying,” he murmurs, and immediately storms off. 

Jisung is now curled into a ball on the ground, groaning continuously. Dahyun kneels down beside him and trees to speak. “Sung, I’m so-”

“It’s fine,” he whispers. It’s not fine. They both know this. But there’s no point in saying anything else, so as Jisung chokes on a sob, Dahyun wraps her arm around his shoulder and pulls him in for a hug, shushing him as she does. Honestly, it might never be fine.

And Jisung decides that if he wants anything at all, he just wants to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	6. SIX : I'm Just So Tragically Tragic

Jisung had a lot of nightmares growing up. A few as a child; those standard bad dreams of a dragon or wendigo that wake you in a sweat but fade back into nothing as soon as you inhale real, conscious air again. He was always terrified by them. The latter in particular was a recurring terror, and in spite of Jisung’s familiarity to the creature in those dreams, he never fully grew accustomed to it. Partially because he didn’t have to.

When Jisung woke in tears (which happened an embarrassing amount of times) he’d run to his mom’s arms, and as soon as they found their way around him he would be safe again. The wintry monster that clutched Jisung as he slept and tried to haul him deep into the forest was replaced by a comforting, more importantly  _ warm  _ embrace, one that protected him. 

Jisung misses that embrace.

As he lies awake sweating at three am on a bitterly cold October night, staring at the ceiling in his dark room, he shivers. And he really, really misses being hugged.

More than that, though, he misses being asleep. Jisung sighs dramatically as he sits up and kicks the blanket down by his feet. He’s only wearing one sock. He reaches down to look for it, but can’t find anything, and Jisung wonders how bad the nightmare that woke him even was. It’s foggy, but he’s awake, and whatever it was that haunted him has already gone from his mind.

Jisung rubs the sleep out of his eyes and decides not to think about it. He knows exactly what it was, though. It’s the same nightmare he’s having since he was a child. The one with the wendigo, with arms so strong and icy he can never remember it’s not real until he’s already in the aftermath of its attack. The dream that’s evolved since his mother died.

The dream that’s no longer about a wendigo, and is instead about a King. 

A King overpowered by greed, a King that feels no satisfaction, a King who always wanted more, more, more until eventually all that was left to feed him was human flesh. A wintry, widowed King that haunts his son from sunrise to set.

Jisung can’t go back to sleep. 

He’d love to, really, but the minute he puts his head down and closes his eyes he’ll be transported back into the deepest part of some foreign wood and into the arms of a beast. So, he rotates, puts his feet on the ground, and stares down at the stuffed bunny he’s been clinging tautly onto all night. He laughs to himself. 

It’s silly, but Jisung can't stand the thought of throwing the tattered old thing away. It’s been with him for the past nineteen odd years, and even if it’s only sentimental, it holds value. He places his inanimate friend next to his pillow and stands. Of course he’d still prefer being asleep, but Jisung doesn’t mind being awake at night, as it’s the only time this palace is ever truly quiet.

The door creaks so loudly that it makes Jisung cringe. He always feels nervous sneaking out, like a delinquent teenager bringing over a girl, or a burglar bringing over his life of crime. It’s a good thing his father sleeps like a corpse, and his mother quite literally is a corpse, though, because it means he can make a semi-alarming amount of noise without alarming any authority.

It does alarm someone, though.

“Sung?” he asks quietly. Jisung whips his head around to locate the source of the sound, and is taken aback to see the owner of the voice standing right behind him. It’s dim in the corridor, and Jisung blinks several times to focus, but is rendered wide-eyed and off guard when it speaks again. “Hey, what are you doing up?”

He’d know that voice anywhere. Soft, caring, and familiar. Jisung sighs. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, and Chan claps a hand down on his shoulder. Even though Jisung isn’t looking at his face, he can tell that Chan’s expression is a worried one. “Is everything alright?”

“What do you think?”

Without another word, Chan is pulling Jisung into a hug, and Jisung feels like he could melt. He wants to. He wants to stay in Chan’s arms until he dissolves or, better yet, is absorbed by his warmth and the opposite of mitosis occurs. But after a few moments Chan gently nudges Jisung off of him and he’s back to feeling terrible.

“It’s so late,” Chan tuts, holding him out at arm’s length. His hand remains firmly on Jisung’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, just…” Jisung trails off with a sigh, tilting his head down a little, then looking up at Chan with tired eyes. “Had another nightmare,” he mumbles, and Chan nods. “Which one?”

“I can’t remember. It was bad, though, so I’m awake now. Why are you up?”

Chan smiles. “Knight duty!” He takes his hand off Jisung’s shoulder and strikes a dramatic pose, hands on his sides, gazing wistfully off at nothing, and Jisung giggles a little. “Someone’s gotta make sure everything’s in order, don’t you think?”

“True. You were just about to go to bed, weren’t you?”

Chan falls back into his normal stance and nods. “Good job. But that can wait,” he says, and Jisung tilts his head in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I need to make sure you’re alright. I can’t do that if I’m asleep,” he says, and Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “It’s fine, really. Just a bad dream. I’ll get over it.”

Jisung is a terrible liar. Chan knows this, as he’s seen Jisung try and fail to be dishonest on multiple occasions, and not once has it worked. In spite of his father’s attempts at raising him to be cunning, his ability to lie blatantly doesn’t exist. He’s secretive in a few senses, obviously, mainly because there are some things he simply  _ can’t  _ share, but Jisung takes no pleasure from leading a lie.

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Jisung, knowing that eventually it’ll force him into submission. After a few moments, Jisung sighs, and he looks sad. “You treat me like I’m a baby.”

Chan frowns at this, his heart now hurting a little. He’s never thought of it like that before. He’s protective of Jisung, of course, but that’s perfectly reasonable! He’s older and stronger than Jisung, and has more experience with the outside world in general, Jisung clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “No I don’t,” he scoffs.

“Yes, you do. I’m not a child!”

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on Jisung. He knows that not many adults roam the halls at night due to bad dreams, but his point still stands. “When do I treat you like a baby?” Chan asks, his voice more curious than confronting. “You do it all the time! You’re always…”

Jisung trails off. There are definitely examples to be had, but right now, he can’t think of a single one. “I don’t know. Right now! You’re asking me dumb questions you know the answers to already because that’s how you engage an infant! I see right through you!”

“Jisung,” he starts, laughing a little. Jisung’s arms are crossed and he’s pouting so hard it makes his lip hurt. “That’s how you engage a  _ human _ . How do you want me to talk to you?”

Again, Jisung isn’t sure what to say, and Chan sees this. Even in a dimly lit corridor he can recognize that look on Jisung’s face, the one that says he’s mentally lost, and extremely embarrassed about it. He feels bad for him, then remembers what Jisung said only a few moments earlier, and feels worse.

Maybe he does treat Jisung like a child. “I’m sorry,” he says. Jisung looks at him like he’s insane. “I know you’re not a baby. I still need to take care of you, though.”

He groans. Of course, Chan needs to protect him, that’s his job. Chan’s a knight, and Jisung’s a prince, and not a single person in Jisung’s life views their relationship as anything more than work. Most of the servants secretly hate him, and he doesn’t blame them. If Jisung had to wait hand and foot on some idiot 20 year old, he’d hate them, too. But it’s not just the servants. It’s everyone. 

It’s the bakers who smile at him when he enters and laugh at his jokes but undoubtedly sigh once he’s out the door. It’s Changbin, who seems like a friend, but really thinks Jisung is just as entitled as his father. It’s Dahyun, who’s only marrying him for personal gain.

Now, Jisung doesn’t have proof of any of this. But deep down, he knows it’s true, and he knows that were he not a monarch, no one would put up with him. He curses his blood and spins on his heel before storming off back into his room, slamming the door behind him. It opens immediately and Jisung feels like a fool.

He can’t say he wants Chan to leave. No, he’s never wanted Chan to leave, and that’s always been a problem. 

“Sung,” Chan says again, and Jisung sits on his bed, staring at the wall. Chan sits down next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Just go to bed. I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” he says, and Jisung looks at him. The lighting is better in here - his bedside lamp now illuminating the room orange and highlighting Chan’s features, the knowing look on his face. Jisung wants to punch him. No matter why, when Jisung is upset over something, Chan can tell. Even on the rare occasion that he does a job of hiding it, Chan still knows.

That bastard knows everything.

“I remember the dream,” he admits finally, and Chan’s eyes widen. Jisung fidgets nervously and looks down for a moment as Chan scoots a little closer to him, placing a hand on his knee. “It was stupid, though, so don’t even worry about it.”

“If it was that stupid you would’ve told me about it,” he says. Jisung sighs. Chan’s hands are big, warm, and in the most pleasant way possible, they make Jisung feel small. Like a baby. Jisung shrugs his shoulder and Chan lets go of him, drawing both hands back to his side. He moves to apologize but is cut off by Jisung speaking again. “It was the wendigo one.”

“Again?”

Jisung nods. “Yeah, but it was different this time. I wasn’t in the woods, I was in a church, and Dahyun was there, and we were getting married. Then a wendigo murdered me and I woke up.”

There was a little more than that, but Jisung decides to spare Chan the details, mainly because he just doesn’t want to share them. He’s told Chan about so many dreams, and recently they’ve all been the same. He doesn’t want to worry him with an entirely new one. Besides, he can cope with it on his own. Jisung’s perfectly capable of independence, even if no one else sees it.

“What else?” Chan asks, and Jisung shrugs. “Nothing much.”

“Was it your dad?”

Jisung sighs, nods, and tentatively leans his head down onto Chan’s shoulder. Chan pets his head. They sit in silence for a few moments, a certain sadness lingering over them, and Jisung tries to further recall his dream.

The church is small. Suffocatingly so, the ceiling a foot above his head and the walls moving inches closer with each blink. Dahyun stands before him, beautiful as always, the train of her white veil trailing from the altar to outside and she remains still, Jisung’s hands clasped in hers. Her smile is fake and her grip is crushing. Jisung glances down at his white knuckles and swallows hard.

He’s about to get married.

No, he’s about to sell his life away. He glances out and sees two pews with a few miscellaneous people huddled together on end. They’re all so close, smiling so widely, and none of them look real. He had always assumed a wedding as important as his would be attended by the entire kingdom, but alas. 

It’s just him, his wife, their associates, and his father.

It’s always his father. Everywhere Jisung looks, he sees his father, and everytime he thinks he’s lost him, he’s still there, staring at him with those cold, dead eyes. Even when he’s alone, it still feels like Jisung’s being watched, and it’s always by him. His eyes are always, always on him.

Now is no different. He turns back to Dahyun, but it isn’t Dahyun anymore. It’s his father. He tries to let go of his hands but to no avail. He’s strong, too strong, and his grip only tightens. Jisung tries moving backwards but he’s stuck, his feet glued to the floor. Gravity is a sandbag on each of his limbs, tying him to the ground, and no matter how much Jisung shakes and protests, he can’t get rid of them.

Even though Jisung doesn’t yet know he’s dreaming, he knows what’ll happen next. The same thing that always happens. 

The wendigo will take him.

He braces himself, still tugging his arms back in a futile attempt, and looks out to the door. Somehow, it’s bright outside. The sun is shining, and the breeze is gentle, and that Winter monster is nowhere to be seen. Jisung relaxes his body in confusion and looks back, expecting to see his father, but it’s not him. It’s not a wendigo, either.

It’s Minho.

It’s just Minho. He’s smiling, and unlike everyone else’s, it looks real. And he's holding Jisung’s hands. Not too tight, but enough for them to still feel secure in his grasp. His hands are so, so soft. Jisung just stares at him. He's not afraid, perse, just confused. Confused as to why it's just Minho, standing there, in a tux matching his own, about to marry him.

Oh, that's right. This is a wedding.

It doesn't make any sense, but Jisung isn't confused anymore, because he understands what's going on. Him and Minho are about to get married, and the church walls are about to close in on him, but that’s fine, because Minho’s about to kiss him.

Then he wakes up, sweating, and here we are.

“You okay?” Chan whispers finally after a long period of silence, not sure if he’s even still awake. Jisung looks up at him and shakes his head. He looks dazed, like a deer in headlights. Chan wraps his arms around him without another word, and Jisung sinks into the embrace, hiding his face in Chan’s chest. He always gives the best hugs.

“Chan?” Jisung asks, his sleepy voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. Chan hums in response. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” he asks softly, one hand on Jisung’s lower back, the other now patting his head comfortingly. Jisung would shrug, but he doesn’t have the energy. “For keeping you awake. I’m sure you have better things to do than look after me.”

“Never,” Chan says, and even though it sounds like a joke, Chan means it. He likes taking care of people, especially Jisung. And he’d never admit it, but Jisung likes it, too. He doesn’t have to admit it, though. Chan can tell from how Jisung is curled into his arms that he feels safe, and that’s all Chan wants for him. They fall back into temporary silence before Jisung giggles.

“What’s up?” Chan asks, and Jisung yawns, smiling. “There was no wendigo.”

“Huh?”

“In my dream. I thought there would be one, but there wasn’t.” Chan stops petting Jisung’s head for a moment and Jisung looks up at him, stretching his neck, chin resting on his chest. “So what even happened?”

“I already told you, I got married! First, to Dahyun, then my dad, then Minho. I’m surprised you weren’t there,” he says, moving out of Chan’s arms and flopping down onto his back, patting the pillow next to him. Chan lies next to him and looks confused. “No, I don’t see why you’d be getting married to me. Your dad, I understand, but why me?”

Somehow, Chan thinking that Jisung marrying his father is reasonable isn’t the most ridiculous thing he’s said. He laughs, turning onto his side, props himself up with his elbow, and looks at Chan. “Take a wild guess.”

Chan shrugs. Really, Jisung feels somewhat betrayed. In all the years they've known each other, he was certain that by now, Chan would’ve figured it out. “You really can’t think?” he asks, and Chan shakes his head. Jisung sighs. “Remember when I was fifteen? And-”

“Oh, now I get it,” he says, and he giggles a little. Jisung isn’t sure why he’s blushing. The past is long behind him, his crush on Chan hasn’t existed in years, but acknowledging that it ever existed in the first place makes him feel like a teenager again. “That was so cute.”

“Shut up,” Jisung mumbles, letting himself fall back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t blame you,” Chan starts, and when they look at each other, Chan winks. “I’m quite the catch.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out,” he says, pushing him lightly, and Chan laughs, taking the opportunity to pull Jisung into another hug, tighter this time. Jisung giggles. He tries to fight it for a moment, but almost immediately gives in, letting himself rest in Chan’s warmth. He’s the little spoon, of course. He is almost every time they cuddle and tonight's no exception. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

And Chan is right. He wouldn’t. Because Jisung is tired, far too tired to move, and Chan’s arms feel like a soft warm blanket and before he can even respond or say goodnight Jisung is asleep, dreaming peacefully in his arms. Chan smiles when he realizes that Jisung’s out cold, and he’s careful not to wake him. “Night, Sung,” he whispers, and Jisung nuzzles into his chest, murmuring incoherently.

When he wakes up tomorrow, Jisung will have to be a prince. And with each night gone he’s one night closer to being king. Honestly, that scares the shit out of him. But Jisung doesn’t want to think about that right now. He’ll have time to stress in the morning, and in the evening, and tomorrow night as well.

But right now? Right now, Jisung just wants to sleep.

So that’s exactly what he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed! i'm doing a double update on friday so look forward to that~


	7. SEVEN : Human Personification Of A Blink 182 Song

Minho really fucking hates his job.

He says it a lot, but that’s only because it’s true: it sucks. His coworkers are either whiny or suck-ups, sometimes both, and his bosses (because technically, he has several) are all pompous assholes. It’s one thing that he’s forced to work against his will, but the fact he’s expected to be happy about it too?

That’s too much.

At least, that’s what Minho thinks. The pair of burly knights hauling him away for attempting to steal from the heir to the throne again disagree. Dahyun falls in stride beside them, prompting the knights to stop walking, paying no attention to Minho’s desperate flailing. They keep a firm grip on either of his arms, and simply wait for Dahyun’s order on what to do next. Minho smiles innocently at her. “Really, Minho? You’re doing this again?”   
  


“Not my fault your boyfriend’s a pu-”   
  
“Lock him in the cellar,” Dahyun says, and suddenly Minho’s smile is gone. “What? Come on, that seems a little intense,” he starts, darting his eyes nervously around the room. He already knows the look on Dahyun’s face, the same one she gives him everytime he causes trouble just for the sake of causing trouble. 

He hates it. He hates her cold, unmoving stare, the way she can go without blinking for what seems like minutes at a time, the contrast from her normally smiling face so intense and unbearable that even the thought of him makes him break out in a cold sweat. Regrettably, he looks at her, and the pleading expression on his face does nothing to soften her. “Nice try, you’re still going.”

“Dahyun,” he moans, dragging out the last syllable and frantically kicking to try and free himself from the knights’ grasp. No luck. “You did this to yourself,” she smiles, patting him on his shoulder, and Minho wants to attack her. “It’s not even that bad! I’m being nice, y’know, giving you time to sit and think about what you’ve done. If I really wanted to see you suffer I’d just make you spend more time with the prince.” She giggles, and Minho lets out a defeated sigh. “Now, be a good boy. I’ll come get you in an hour.”

“You’re the worst and I hate you,” Minho says, pouting like a child. Dahyun ruffles his hair, still grinning. 

“I know you do. Bye-bye, Minho! Have fun!” she waves him off, and before Minho can say another word, the knights are dragging him down the corridor and towards the cellar.

As Minho is tossed into the dark, dank wine cellar, several thoughts run through his mind.  _ My ass hurts _ is the first. He whines quietly to himself, pushing himself off the ground and limping aimlessly around in hopes of walking off the pain. His next thought as he clutches his sore, boney ass is  _ if I drank like, six bottles of Merlot, no one would even know. Well, not for an hour, at least. Fuck, will Dahyun remember I’m down here? Probably not. That might work, though. If a few days pass and no one comes looking for me, I can say I drank for survival.  _

_ This is all Han Jisung’s fault.  _

This leads him cleanly into his next thought, one he has frequently, but is now amplified tenfold by his current predicament.

“I hate my job,” he whispers to himself in a low, breathy voice, shaking his head and plopping himself down against a sturdy wooden shelf. “I really, really hate my job,” he repeats, laughing a little. Presumably the cellar is soundproof, but in the case that it’s not, Minho isn’t really sure he cares. No one’s ever paid attention to his lamenting before. Why would they start now? No, no one would ever care for what Minho thinks, for he’s but a lowly peasant. He lives to serve, he has no mind.

He needs a drink.

In a way, Minho’s almost happy to have been sent down here. Is he  _ overjoyed  _ at the prospect of twiddling his thumbs alone in an inescapable wine cellar for the next hour all because the prince is a pussy? No. Not even a little. But at least down here it’s quiet, and for an hour of his time he won’t have to think about Han Jisung. Nor will he have to look at him, hear his voice, or even be aware of the fact he exists. 

All that Minho has to think about right now is how the fuck he’ll get this bottle open without a corkscrew.

When Minho was a rebellious teenager he learned that if you smack the bottom of a bottle with your shoe enough times the cork will come flying off. Pretty nifty, but a little inconvenient when you’re trying to sprint away from an angry pub owner in the dead of night. Minho giggles thinking about it, leaning his head back against the wall he takes a swig and lets himself slide back onto the floor. It’s a bittersweet memory. Of course, being a teenager sucked, but it was better than this. Anything is better than this.

Don’t even think about it, he tells himself, inhaling deeply and taking another sip before he can get too deep into his thoughts. Easier said than done, though. The lack of distraction is starting to get to him. Still, no matter for how long, he'd rather be completely alone than be anywhere near Han Jisung.

Han Jisung, however, did not get this message.

About ten minutes after Minho was plunged into darkness an angled ray of artificial light hits him. He squints, having briefly forgotten how bright the outside world can be. When realization hits Minho immediately hides the bottle behind his back and stands, stumbling a little as he stands, sighing in relief when he realizes the door is creaked open. 

“God, Finally,” he starts, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “I thought you’d left me to die, Dahyun! Did you know there are rats down here? Fuckin’ massive rats, size of my hand-”   
  
His hyperbolic rant is halted by the sound of a laugh. Normally Minho would be encouraged to proceed by the sound of Dahyun’s laugh, but this laugh doesn’t belong to Dahyun. No, this is much different, this sound is wretched and adorable and Minho definitely hates it. This is the laugh of none other than his sworn enemy, mortal foe, the bane of Minho’s very existence.

Han Jisung.

Who else could it be? Of course, knowing Minho’s luck, it just had to be Han Fucking Jisung who walked in on him plesantly buzzed for the first time in God knows how long on the very wine he’s stolen from Han Fucking Jisung’s cellar. Of course, the reason why he’s down here in the first place. God, this guy is the worst. 

“You’re not Dahyun,” he says, his voice deadpan. Jisung’s back is turned to the light of the stairwell so Minho can’t see his face, but it’s safe to assume by the nervous fingers scratching the back of his neck that Jisung is blushing. He’s always blushing, that weirdo.

“I’m not, my apologies,” he says in a small voice. For someone who could easily order an execution with absolutely zero questioning, Jisung isn’t very intimidating. “But she wanted to leave you down here for another-” he pauses and glances down at his wrist. “Fifty minutes? I don’t know, I didn’t think that seemed fair.”

He steps forward out of the doorway, idly fixing his hair as he considers approaching Minho. One step is enough for now, he decides, not wanting to overstep any more boundaries than he already has by coming down here. “Look, I know I-”   
  


“The door!” Minho squawks, leaping forward, but it’s too late. Of course, the light shining into the corner has disappeared, and of course, the door behind Jisung has now slammed shut. “The d-the fucking-the-I’m gonna strangle you,” Minho stammers, kicking the ground. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sure I can just-”

Jisung stops. He’s pulling at the handle, but to no avail. It won’t budge. Oh no. This is bad. This is very, very bad. Oh no. He laughs nervously, and tightens his grip on the handle, but his hands are now so incredibly sweaty they can barely hold on. 

He pushes, and pulls, and in the background he can hear Minho yelling profanities at him, but Jisung can’t understand a word he’s saying. The earth is closing in on him.

The door locks from the outside.

“Good job, Your Highness,” Minho hollers, violently applauding. Shamefully and slowly Jisung turns on his heel, his face bright red, his entire body burning. If Zeus came down from the sky just to smite him at this very moment, Jisung would have no objection. Quite frankly, he feels he would deserve it. 

They’re trapped.

“I am so, so sorry, Minho, I don’t-I don’t-I-” Jisung’s attempts at speech are a failure, and for the first time since Minho has started working in this palace, he feels genuine empathy for him. Not a lot, but it’s something. He just looks so miserable. Suddenly, without any warning, Jisung drops to his knees, head hung in shame. He places his hands out on the ground in front of him by Minho’s feet. “Please forgive me.”

Minho just laughs. He tries not to, he honestly does try, but he just can’t hold it in. “Get up, you dumbass. It’s not that bad.” Jisung’s head shoots up so quickly his neck cracks, and Minho chuckles. There’s a look in his eyes unlike anything Minho has ever seen before. “Really? It-it’s okay?” Jisung asks, looking up at him pleadingly. 

If Minho didn’t know better, he’d assume this was all an act. But through Dahyun’s stories and all he's witnessed first-hand, he’s come to realise something - Jisung’s an idiot who can’t act for shit. Just another reason why he sucks! But, even though he’s the worst and Minho hates him, he can appreciate the fact that Jisung’s showing remorse.

“Yes, it’s okay,” he assures him, his voice much softer than what Jisung is used to hearing from him. He’s so used to mumbled insults or just silence that prior to this, Jisung hadn’t really noticed how much he likes the sound of Minho’s voice. The corners of his lip twitch into a smile as he scrambles to his feet, bowing his head. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Minho punches him to the shoulder. “At least you bought me more time to drink,” Minho huffs out a laugh as he sits back down, taking a long swig and sighing deeply as he finishes.

Minho never thought he’d pity Jisung, but he looks a bit like a lost child at the moment, and he can’t help wanting to make him feel better. Not because he wants Jisung specifically to be happy, but because he’s a wonderful person and simply cannot bear to see another human sad. Yeah, that’s it. That’s why Minho thrusts the bottle forward so quickly he causes a little to spill over the top. Jisung looks at it, puzzled. 

“Go on,” he urges, swirling it around. “There’s like, five hundred other bottles in here if you hadn’t noticed. I have. I’ve been surrounded by them for only God knows how long”

“Ten minutes. And, I don’t think I should…” he mummers, playing with the hem of his sleeve. He does that a lot. Nerves, maybe? Minho smiles at the thought. “Come on, what’s stopping you? Afraid you’ll get wildly drunk and start a revolution against the king? You don’t seem like the type,” Minho comments, taking another drink and wiping the rim before pushing it back towards Jisung. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Jisung relaxes his stiff muscles before sitting criss-cross applesauce next to Minho, reaching towards the bottle and taking it. He stares at it, half empty, and wonders how Minho can be so fucking cool. “You really don’t drink?”

“No, not often,” Jisung responds, shaking his head. “A little, on special occasions. If I have to. But not unless the King wants me to.”

Minho gasps, then giggles. “There’s so much to unpack there I think it’s best I get you drunk before questioning it.” Jisung chuckles, and continues staring at the label. This wine is old, almost as old as he is. He’s never thought much about it, but he’s heard that the older the wine, the better it’s supposed to taste. That doesn’t make a lot of sense in Jisung’s mind, because old food is supposed to taste terrible. “Do you think that-”

“You’re stalling. Drink up, buttercup,” Minho urges. Jisung quickly inhales, squeezes his eyes shut, and chugs. Minho snorts as he finishes, hastily wiping his wet lips. Jisung’s face is contorted in disgust. “Jesus,” he breathes, coughing into his elbow. “This tastes like vinegar. Do you really enjoy it?”

“Eh, it’s an acquired taste. You’ll get it when you’re older.” Jisung shrugs, the look of disgust unintentionally returning to his face when Minho takes another swig. “I feel like I just took your virginity,” Minho says, and, once more, Jisung is choking. “Huh?” he wheezes, and Minho just stares at him. For a minute he doesn’t say anything. Then it hits him. 

“Holy shit. You’ve never gotten laid, have you?”

In the lowlight of the cellar it’s a little hard to be certain, but Minho is fairly sure Jisung’s blushing. “D-does it matter?”

“Well, I guess not. I just assumed, what with you being a prince and all. Saving yourself for marriage?”   
  
Jisung laughs. “You expect me and Dahyun to have sex?”

“You’re literally getting married to her in a month, what the fuck else are you guys planning on doing? Filing taxes together? Yeah, I bet.” Jisung isn’t sure if it’s something he said, but Minho suddenly sounds a lot less sweet. It’s that same fed-up, too tired to be angry tone he’s so used to, and for the few minutes he’s known something different, Jisung has become so fond of the sound that he feels it would’ve been more merciful to have never heard it in the first place. 

Then he remembers he’s engaged. Not just to Dahyun, but to a woman. Panic ensues.

He laughs. Jisung laughs, and it’s so clearly forced that it not only baffles but terrifies Minho. “Sike! Haha! I fooled you! Of course I’ll have sex! With my wife! Dahyun! Who I‘m marrying! We will have sex, but we will wait until marriage as not to disgrace ourselves! Because, Minho, a woman’s body is a temple. And I love women’s bodies. Especially Dahyun’s, because we are engaged to be wed, and she is a woman, who I cannot wait to have sex with. Frequently.”

Minho looks at Jisung. Jisung looks at Minho. Minho looks at Jisung. 

Jisung looks at the bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon dated 20 years back loose in Minho’s grasp and grabs it, lifts it to his lips, and finishes the small amount that’s left. In the past ten seconds he must’ve aged fifty years, because this suddenly tastes amazing. 

“Say, where’d you find this?” he asks, and Minho doesn’t answer. Minho looks at Jisung. Minho furrows his eyebrows, and inhales the air. It smells of grapes and perspiration. Jisung is sweating bullets from every orifice, and it’s as obvious as the wine pouring down his chin. For the first time since he laid eyes on Jisung, Minho can finally say with confidence that he looks awful.

“What time is it?” Minho asks finally, and as opposed to simply reading the time off his watch himself, Jisung thrusts his wrist towards Minho’s face, narrowly avoiding punching him. “It’s only been eight minutes!” he shouts, smacking his face. “Fuck this, Your Highness. We’re getting wasted.”   
  


“On wine?”   
  
“Do you have a better idea?”

Jisung hums a pensive note before speaking. “Well, we could always wait until Dahyun comes to get us. It’s only forty minutes or so, I’m sure we’ll survive until then.”

“I mean this in the absolute nicest way possible, I would rather get alcohol poisoning then spend forty more minutes alone with you while sober. No offense. I just hate your guts.”   
  
“Yeah, I thought so. I’m sorry about that, Minho,” Jisung says quietly, and the vitriol that rests deep in Minho’s stomach flips. Now he’s just confused. “What are you apologizing for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”   
  


“Then why do you hate me?”

Externally, it’s silent, but Minho can hear the blood rushing through his veins. He hears his heart beat in his ears and it’s fucking pounding, it’s so goddamn loud and similarly to Jisung it won’t go away, no matter what he does it’s still there and even when it’s quiet, he still knows it’s ther. All he can think to do is distract himself. 

And the only way that’s possible is breaking into another bottle.


	8. EIGHT : The Cellar Part Two, Electric Boogaloo

“What’s the deal with your dad, eh?”

Jisung coughs. Minho is glancing at various bottles, only reading one in every second label, and Jisung feels nervous. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, and it sounds like he’s telling the truth. The quiver in his voice isn’t from anxiety of being caught in a lie, it’s from anxiety of being caught completely and utterly clueless.

“You know what I mean,” he says, and Jisung shakes his head. “You call him the King. Is that not a little weird?”

Jisung knows it is. Not for a second does he want to argue over this, but he can’t help himself, not when he’s been specifically requested to be confrontational on this subject. “Well, he’s the King. I could call him my dad but it feels weird. Same reason you don’t call me Jisung, I guess.”

“And that reason is?”

Now that he’s actually thinking about it, Jisung doesn’t know. He shrugs. “You just don’t.”

“I’m about to teach you something very, very important, Your Highness, so pay real close attention.”

Jisung nods, following Minho as he makes his way down the aisle of bottles like a naive child. “Please don’t give me sex advice. It’s really kind of you, I do appreciate it, but...” he trails off, and Minho stops walking to turn around and scowl at him. “What? Gross, no. Give me your shoe.”

“My shoe?”

“You ask too many questions.” Jisung frowns, but squats down anyway to work on untying his laces. “Sorry, sorry. Left or right?” Minho groans. “Does it matter? Left, I guess, I don’t care.”

“Minho, are you sure this isn’t a sex thing?” He asks again, reluctantly handing him his left shoe. It’s really small, almost too small. Minho isn’t sure this is going to work. “Do you want it to be?” He asks, winking, and Jisung bows his head. Not in remorse, but in embarrassment. Minho takes that as a strong maybe. He presses the heel against the wall. “Hey, twinkle toes, pass me a bottle.”

“What's your preference?”

“I really don’t care. Something expensive-looking, preferably. I’m hoping it’ll piss off your old man.” Jisung giggles at this, the opposite of the reaction Minho was expecting. He doesn’t have enough time to think about it before Jisung is timidly tapping his shoulder “Here, I’ll look for a different one if-”

“Perfect! Thank you,” Minho smiles, taking the bottle without sparing a glance at the label. “Funny, I really did think you’d be a snob,” he comments to himself. Jisung’s voice is barely above a whisper. “People think a lot of things.”

Still holding the shoe and bottle against the wall, Minho looks Jisung in the eye. “You got a problem with it?”

“No, not really. I just don’t understand why people are so obsessed with me and my family. It kind of makes sense, but really, it’s horrendous to think that the general population believe the monarchy is anything other than oppressive and corrupt and that the few who-rightfully so-view a problem with it are locked in a wine cellar.” 

Then the cork comes flying off and hits Minho directly in the eye.

“Fuck!” He exclaims, clutching his eye. It hurts a lot, and he inarguably needs medical attention, but Minho isn’t too focused on the fact he might be bleeding. No, he’s more focused on the fact that Han Jisung has just denounced everything he’s ever known, and they still have about thirty minutes until Dahyun will come to let them out. The only thing currently on Han Jisung’s mind is  _ I could swear there’s ice down here somewhere… _

A minute or so passes, and Minho is drowning his agony in the most disgusting excuse for alchohol he’s ever tasted while Han Fucking Jisung gently presses ice against his eye. Okay, it’s not ice, it’s just a bag of peas he found in a distant cabinet, but it’s the coldest thing he could find. For Minho’s sake, Jisung tries not to move, but the fact he keeps squirming doesn’t make it easy. “You are the worst, Han Jisung,” Minho whispers.

“I know. I’m sorry.”   
  
“That’s exactly why you’re the worst,” Minho half barks, and Jisung lets his hands fall from Minho’s face. “It’s not even your fault that I hate you. You’re just some fucking guy and it’s awful. Please don’t apologise.”

“Then what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, Jisung! I don’t want you to say anything! All I want is for you to have your head up your ass like every other stupid royal prick, I want you to think you’re so much better than a lowly failure like me that you refuse to even acknowledge I exist, I want you to give me a reason to hate you but you don’t and that’s why I hate you!”

Minho looks at Jisung, and Jisung looks at Minho, and Minho looks at the bag of peas and smacks it back onto his eye with such force it caused the eye that isn’t swollen shut to tear up, and Jisung looks at Minho with tears streaming down his face and has no idea what to do. “So you hate me because you… don’t… hate me?”

For a second, Minho doesn’t justify his statement with a response. He knows how stupid he sounds, and most of the time, he considers himself a good person, but Jisung brings out the worst in him. Maybe he thinks Jisung is a better person than he is? No, that’s stupid. But so is Minho. God, Minho feels so fucking stupid. He can’t help but laugh. “Basically,” he says finally, wincing as he holds the bag against his eye. It’s barely even that cold anymore, but it gets the job done, and of fucking course, the only thing that can ease his pain is brought on by Han Fucking Jisung. 

“I like you, Minho, but you’re so mean. I understand though.”

“Of course you do, Your Highness,” he says, rolling his eyes and flinching from the pain of movement. Jisung smiles. “Not fully, but kind of. If I was born to a commoner you would have no problem with me, but because my dad is the King, everyone is expected to love me. So, you’re rebelling. It’s reasonable.” 

Minho sighs, and then nods. “Okay, fine, you do get it. Happy now?”

“Hm, not really,” Jisung says, absent-mindedly fluffing his hair. “I know why you don’t like the idea of me, but still, is it not a little unfair to keep hating me when you know I’m not like my father?”

Then, for the first time, Minho starts to get it. Dahyun’s been trying to explain the concept of “judging a man for the sins of his father” ever since they met and he tried rugby tackling her, but up until now it just never made any sense to him. Yeah, Dahyun is royalty, and Minho tends to loathe any pure-blooded bastard, but Dahyun’s different. She’s gay. She’s attracted to women and she fights with her parents and refuses to fit into their mold, she lives as herself and no one else. She’s flawed and human and she’s unapologetic about both of those things. She’s not a princess, she’s just Dahyun.

Jisung, on the other hand? Jisung’s perfect. And that’s deplorable. 

He’s a dumb virgin who doesn’t like the taste of alcohol and blushes at everything and calls his dad The King (who the fuck does that?) and cleans up broken glass even though he wasn’t the one to break it and he has servants to do that for him and in spite of his power over an entire kingdom he’s obedient and Minho hates him because even though he appears to be perfect and complacent, he’s still human, he’s more than the son of King Han and he’s more than a successor. 

It’s not Han Jisung’s fault his blood is blue.

For a second, Minho almost feels bad. But then he remembers it’s not his fault Jisung’s a Han, either, and he immediately gets over any guilt he may have felt. Blaming Han Jisung for all his problems is too fun to quit. 

“I guess, kinda…” Minho whispers, kicking the ground. He feels like he’s being told off by his mother for pushing another child into the sandpit. Then, Jisung chuckles, that small, nervous sound he makes at every social event before and after being spoken to, and Minho feels butterflies in his stomach. Who gave him the right to sound like that?

“Ah, forgive me. I’m rambling.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Minho says quickly, and Jisung looks taken aback. Perhaps it’s because Minho, the same Minho that pickpocketed him less than an hour ago, has suggested they _ talk. _ Perhaps he’s a little bit starstruck. Perhaps Jisung has no idea what he wants to say next, but he knows he wants to say something. He fidgets on the ground, trying to sit comfortably, and clears his throat. “So, uh, what do you do for fun?”

Minho laughs. “Nothing. I haven’t been happy since the last recession.”

He was expecting Jisung to also laugh, but instead the look on his face is that of sheer panic.  _ Good job, Your Highness, _ Jisung thinks, eyes wide,  _ you fucked it. Your one chance at a friendship has been crushed beneath your tiny fairy feet. Resign from your position in the palace within the next 48 hours and- _

“I was joking,” Minho says, and Jisung sighs in relief. Then he laughs. He hates to admit it, but Minho kind of-only kind of-likes the sound. Not because it’s Han Jisung or anything, but because he’s glad someone finally appreciates his humour. Now that he thinks about it, Jisung laughed when he first came down here, as well. Maybe he’s not entirely awful, if only for the fact he finds Minho funny. 

He tries not to smile. “Dumbass. I don’t know, what do  _ you  _ do for fun?”

“Have sex,” he says after a moment of pondering. Really, it’s so stupid, and not funny in the slightest, but Minho howls with laughter. Maybe just because it’s so unexpected? Either way, he’s laughing, and Jisung feels proud of himself. “I thought your body was a temple?”   
  
“Yeah? Temples get horny too, Minho. Don’t be so close minded.”

For a few seconds, everything feels already. Jisung and Minho are just two friends, sitting against a wall, sharing a bottle of merlot, laughing about shit that doesn’t make any sense. “We’re learning so much about each other,” Minho comments, sarcasm evident in his tone. Jisung giggles, then checks his watch. “Hey! Only twenty minutes left!”

“Thank god,” he mumbles, taking a swig and contorting his face in disgust. Minho pulls the bottle a little away from his face and squints, resting the (now room temperature) peas by his side and attempting to read the label. “You’re kidding me,” he groans, and Jisung quirks an eyebrow at him. “There’s a fucking hole behind the label! This is expired!”

“No way!” Jisung exclaims, leaning towards the bottle (and in turn, Minho) to get a closer look. Sure enough, there’s a wet patch on the label, and a tiny amount of wine drips down as Minho holds the bottle on its side. “It’s always me,” he sighs, and Jisung pats his shoulder comfortingly. 

Jisung is touching Minho. 

He draws his hand away almost as quickly as he placed it down, pulling it behind his head to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ll go get a different one,” Jisung says, attempting to stand, only to be stopped by Minho pushing his arm out in front of him and knocking back down. “It’s fine, I’ll go.”

As Minho beats open a thoroughly inspected bottle, he wonders whether or not Dahyun will ever come for them. If it was only him maybe not, but the fact that Jisung is here too leads Minho to the conclusion that, if not Dahyun, then a barrage of servants have been sent to look for him. Somebody must have noticed Jisung’s absence, he doesn’t doubt that for a minute. But nobody’s coming.

Did the door lock from the outside, too?

Are they going to die in here?

Have they been seriously forgotten? If not, have they been purposefully abandoned? Was this a set up? They could take shifts sleeping to be on guard for when another human comes near the cellar, but if someone were to come whilst Jisung is awake, it’s possible they’d leave without waking him up. Minho shakes his head. “I’m gonna lose my shit if we die together,” Minho says finally. “How do you wanna die?”   
  
The cork comes off without hitting either of them in the face and Minho consumes a quarter of the bottle before sitting back down next to Jisung, whose head is tilted inquisitively at him. “I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about it much.”   
  
That’s a lie. Minho thinks about how he’ll die frequently. Not because he wants to, no, but because the rest of the palace seems to want him dead. “Probably a hate-crime. Hey, don’t laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jisung says, still laughing. “Please, tell me more.”

“It’s not that I want to get hate-crimed, it’s just the most possible outcome. Or I’ll die in a freak horse accident. You know how it is,” Minho says, and Jisung nods, giggling like a schoolgirl. God, he’s so  _ cute _ fucking stupid. “I shouldn’t find that funny, I’m sorry.”

“You’re marrying a woman, I wouldn’t expect you to get it.” Suddenly Minho doesn’t find this funny anymore. “Dahyun was yours before she was mine, okay? Don’t forget that.”

“Wait, you dated? That doesn’t make any sense. Dahyun’s not-nevermind, it makes total sense. So much sense that Dahyun dated a man. I’m a man and she’s dating me, so of course it makes sense! I love women, women love men, I’m a man, it makes sense. Pass me that bottle.”

“You’re being weird,” Minho says, handing him the wine. “Wait, holy shit. You know, don’t you?”

“Know what, haha? What are you talking about?”

Minho sighs. “Stop saying haha out loud, Your Highness, it’s suspicious as fuck. And, you know. She’s… y’know.”

“My sincerest apologies sir, I believe you’re talking to the wrong person.”   
  
“We’ve been locked in a cellar together for the past hour, I’m pretty sure I know who I’m talking to by now, and I’m pretty sure the merlot is making you dumber. A lot dumber. Which is saying, considering you’re already pretty-”   
  
“What’s Dahyun’s favourite flower?” Jisung asks finally, his words coming out in such a quick, slurred panic Minho barely understands them. When he does, though, he smiles.

“Violets. Her favourite flowers are violets, Your Highness.”

Jisung wants to cry. Really, this shouldn’t mean anything to him, but the fact that Minho knows that Jisung knows that Dahyun likes girls lifts a weight off his shoulders. Because if Dahyun trusts Minho, and Minho believes that she trusts Jisung, too, that has to count for something. “What’s yours?”

“Huh?” Minho asks, and embarrassingly enough, he’s blushing. Jisung is looking right at him with such pure curiosity in his eyes and the softest smile and Minho, for the first time in his life, isn’t weighing up the pros and cons of clocking him. He’s never been asked that before. 

Probably because he isn’t a lesbian, but still. 

It’s the thought that counts? Jisung’s hand twitches as it grazes against Minho’s before he rests it in his own lap, too anxious to place it anyway else. Minho would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.

“What’s your favourite flower, Minho?”

There’s a sound from the stairwell and both heads turn so quickly it gives them whiplash. As soon as they’re looking onwards a familiar artificial angled light hits them, and Minho scrambles to his feet. “What’s my pussy of a boyfriend doing down here?” A voice asks, and Minho laughs. Jisung hums a note of confusion, and Dahyun waves her hand dismissively. “I’ll tell you later. Seriously, though, what the fuck’s going on here?”

“I know,” Minho says. Jisung stands, approaches the door, and shifts his gaze between the pair. “He knows. We know,” He adds. “I don’t. Did you two fuck?”

“Alright, I’m out of here,” Minho announces, climbing the stairs leading up to the door so quickly he almost trips. He punches Dahyun in the shoulder as he speeds past her into the light beyond the cellar, and Dahyun giggles. He yells in relief as the light hits him and begins sprinting up the stairs. 

“What a sweetheart. Anyway,” she starts, turning back to Jisung and ushering him towards her. Reluctantly he trudges up the stairs towards her. She puts an arm around his shoulder as they proceed onwards. 

“Are you okay? Any wounds, injuries? Jesus, you smell like-” she passes and takes a whiff of the air, her face contorting in confusion, and then disgust. “Han Jisung, were you drinking?”   
  
“I… We’ll talk about it later, Dahyun. I just want to get some fresh air and be alone right now.”

Dahyun nods. “Okay, well, I’m here when you recover from your Minho related-trauma. If you need me to have a word with him just let me know, okay? I’ll look after you. Like any good woman should.” Jisung laughs at this, and they proceed the rest of the way in silence. 

Several feet onwards, Minho can’t help but wonder how he would’ve answered. It was a stupid question. There are no gay coded flowers, at least, none that he knows of, because men liking flowers in general is supposed to be gay. Without any homoerotic undertext in that question, Minho probably would’ve said lavenders, because he likes the colour and they smell nice.

But Minho knows it’s deeper than that. So he thinks about it, long and hard, and as he walks through one of the palace’s many egregiously extravagant flower gardens, he decides on an answer

Flowers are overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally....... They're Bonding. thank you so much for reading, i hope u enjoyed! see u on Sunday!


	9. NINE : Tender And Mild (Like Baby Jesus, Or Chicken)

“Dahyun?” Jisung asks, and she hums, not looking up from his nails as she carefully applies a pale pink coat to his thumb. “Why does Minho work for you?”

She stops for a moment to sigh, then moves onto another one of Jisung’s nails. “I mean, I get that it’s for money, but why would he want to work for a royal family if he hates us so much? He could do something else,” he shrugs, and Dahyun holds his hand down flat against the floor. “Couldn’t he?”

“If you’re asking me if Minho’s has to work for my family as punishment for petty theft - the answer is yes. That guy’s a klepto and a half,” she says the last part quietly, laughing a little, and Jisung looks shocked. He’s silent for a moment. Then, he moves his hand, and Dahyun scoffs.

“I got it all over your-”

“Tell me more,” he says, and Dahyun is perplexed. “About Minho.”

“What do you wanna know?” she asks. Jisung averts his gaze upwards, searching his brain for questions, and when he makes eye contact with Dahyun again he speaks with conviction. “How’d you catch him?”

Dahyun gently pulls Jisung’s hand towards her face, and rubs away excess nail polish with her thumb before continuing with a fresh coat. “It was ongoing. The first time I saw him he was still a kid, and all he took was some food, so I just told him to work on his strategy. If I could see him, so could anyone else.”

“You didn’t report him?” he asks, and Dahyun looks at him in disgust. “It was a loaf of bread, Jisung. I’m not an asshole.” Jisung nods, apologetic, and she looks back down to his nails. “I didn’t see him for a while after that, but we kinda became friends. I saw him a lot, he was always around town, so I kinda just drifted to him.”

It’s stupid, really, but Jisung is jealous. Obviously he doesn’t have a problem with Dahyun having other friends, but something about Minho makes him feel… threatened. 

“He kept borrowing things, useless things that no one cared about, mostly, and I was the only one who ever caught him. If anyone ever reported him I made up an alibi. It got to his head, though,” she says, and Jisung is on the edge of his metaphorical seat. He hasn’t even noticed how eager he’s gotten to hear the end until Dahyun gazes up at him and her face is barely three inches away. “Other hand,” she says, and Jisung immediately places it in her hand. She begins a new coat of polish and continues.

“I think he forgot I didn’t have any real power. So yeah. He got caught. A bunch of people saw him, reported it straight to my mom, and she tried to execute him.”

“I’m sorry, she what?”

“Did I stutter?” Dahyun asks, and Jisung shakes his head. “I suggested that, maybe instead of murder, he just works for a couple years to pay off the debt of all he’s stolen. And here we are!”

“Jesus,” Jisung mumbles, and Dahyun blows on his nails. “When can he stop working for you?”

“That’s undecided. Hey, did something happen with him?” She asks, and Jisung laughs at how sudden it is. It takes him a moment to respond due to surprise, but when he does, he shakes his head. “No! Of course not,” he says, and Dahyun doesn’t look like she believes him. “You sound like you want him gone. Jisung, you know that if he did _anything_ to you, I-”

“Do you like Minho more than me?”

Silence. Jisung feels stupid for asking, but he knows the question won’t leave his mind until he gets an answer. Dahyun blinks. “You’re so dumb, Sungie,” she laughs, and Jisung pouts. “That’s a no, isn’t it?”

Dahyun wouldn’t dare tell him, but she knows who she’d choose in a millisecond. Even though she hates to compare them, she just can’t help it. Minho and Jisung are both so important to her. She knows they don’t see it, but they’re similar, too. Both funny, with a tendency to be overdramatic, and the purest hearts. More importantly, they’re her best friends.

Both of them.

“I don’t know! That’s like asking me to choose between my kids. Can I not love my two gay sons equally?” she asks, and Jisung whines. “But I’m your fiance, Dahyun, does that count for nothing?”

“You’re also not attracted to women. So no, not really.”

“I don’t get it,” he whines, shifting around uncomfortably. He sits with his chin on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs. Jisung is jealous. “I’m way better than he is.”

“Sure you are, kiddo,” she giggles, ruffling his hair, and he swats her away. “Careful! You’re gonna smudge your nails.”

He looks down at his hands and sighs, then back at Dahyun. “It’s-”

“Dubu!” A voice says from outside, and as the door flies open, Jisung flinches at the noise, curling in on himself. “You’re not gonna believe this,” Chaeyoung laughs as she advances towards her. She’s practically skipping. She hasn’t stopped to actually look at Dahyun yet, but when she does, she notices she’s not alone. Chaeyoung bows.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” she says quietly, her cheeks flushed red, and Jisung rocks back and forth idly, waving politely at her. “It’s alright. And please, you can just call me Jisung.”

“Will do! So, Jiji,” she says, flopping down onto the ground and moving closer to him. “Do you mind if I steal the princess from you for a minute?”

Jisung glances at Dahyun, who has a look of something akin to desperation on her face, then back at Chaeyoung, and forces a smile. “Of course not. Take as long as you need,” he says, standing to leave. Chaeyoung seems perplexed. “You can stay here if you want! Really, I won’t take too long, we could just go talk outside for a bit. I’ll bring her back soon.”

Chaeyoung might think this is true, but Jisung knows better. Along with Minho, he’s Dahyun’s best friend, but in comparison to Chaeyoung? They’re both lint. He doesn’t really care that much. Were Dahyun ditching him for Minho, he’d probably be in tears, but he sees the way she looks at Chaeyoung and he’s heard her lamenting too many times to even keep count of, and even though Jisung doesn’t currently know love like that, he understands.

He wonders if he could _ever_ know love like that.

Jisung tries not to think about it too much. He waits outside for a minute, two, fifteen, and from the inside of Dahyun’s room he hears laughs and whispers that have no plans of stopping, and eventually realizes that there’s no point in waiting around for them any longer. He’ll be lucky if he sees Dahyun again at all tonight, and Jisung is at peace with that. 

What he’s not at peace with, however, is the fact that as he descends the stairs, Minho falls in line beside him. “Hey,” Jisung smiles as he turns to face him, and Minho doesn’t look up. Jisung feels himself blushing out of embarrassment and walks a little quicker. He wasn’t really expecting Minho to respond, but he still feels disappointed. They haven’t spoken since last week, when they were trapped together, and ever since then Minho’s been acting… off.

He’s not ignoring Jisung. Well, not entirely.

He seems to always be within the general vicinity of Jisung. Silently observing him, like an eagle preying on a small rodent, like he’s just waiting to pounce. In spite of this, Minho never swoops. When Jisung acknowledges Minho’s presence, be it with a hello or a simple smile in his direction, he retreats back into the shadows like he was never there to begin with.

Jisung doesn’t get it. At times it almost feels like Minho’s following him, but why would he? It’s not like he has a reason to. They don’t even speak.

“Minho?” Jisung asks as they reach the end of the stairs, slowly halting as Minho looks at him on purpose for the first time in days. “Did I do something?”

“What?” Minho asks, furrowing his brows in confusion. Jisung looks nervous, his cheeks red as he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve. “I feel like you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry about, um, y’know… yelling at you.” 

He didn’t think it possible, but somehow Minho’s now even more confused. “You sure you’re thinking of the right person?” he asks, and Jisung looks at him in the same way that a cat looks at a dog. “Yes? After that meeting I had, where Dahyun and I were sorting out a wedding date, I yelled at you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that!” Minho says, and it’s clear he’d forgotten about it. His expression relaxes into a smile. “I overreacted anyway. Don’t worry about it,” he says, resting a hand on Jisung’s shoulder for the briefest of moments before immediately removing it. He runs his hand through his hair cooly and coughs, looking away, and Jisung feels like he’s been set alight.

Minho just touched him. It was probably a mistake, and it ended quicker than it began, but Minho still touched him. He doesn’t know what to say. Minho stops fixing his hair and looks at Jisung, his cheeks tinged pink. “Were you okay?”

“Huh?”

“After that meeting. Total disaster, wasn’t it?” he asks, and Jisung slumps his shoulders with a groan, hiding his face in his hands. “You don’t wanna know.”

“No, I think I do,” he says, and Jisung peeks out from the gaps in his fingers to see Minho smiling somewhat mischievously at him. “Really?” he asks, unbelieving, and Minho nods. Then, he turns, and nods at Jisung to follow him. “Not here, though. The acoustics in this place suck.”

“I know! I get that it’s a palace, but do the ceilings have to be _that_ high?” he says, making large gestures with his hands as they progress out of the main hall and begin wavering through an assortment of servants. “I feel like I’m in the world’s most Baroque cave.”

Minho laughs at this, and Jisung can feel his skin heat up from a strange sense of pride. He must look so stupid. Following Minho like a duckling, completely unsure of where he’s even leading them, but not thinking for even a second that he should question it. Why would he ever question a man that knows how to open bottles with a shoe?

“Alright,” Minho says, hoisting himself onto a windowsill with a quiet grunt. He pats the marble next to him and Jisung climbs up, scooting a little bit away from Minho, just to avoid making things awkward. “Details, princey. Tell me everything.”

The palace is lively today. It always is. Jisung swings his legs as he watches passerbys hurry from one room to the next, sighing and scratching the back of his neck and he thinks of what to say. “It wasn’t much different than every other meeting with the King,” he says, and for a reason Jisung isn’t sure of, Minho giggles. He looks at him with a frown and Minho shakes his head.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just…” he trails off, and laughs again. “The King.”

“You’re worse than I am,” Jisung says, and Minho gently punches him in the arm. “Sure I am. Keep going.”

“It wasn’t just him. It was Dahyun’s parents, too, so that didn’t help,” he says. Minho groans, leaning against the window. “Such assholes,” he scoffs, and from the tiny amount of knowledge that Jisung has on Minho’s past, he understands. “Her dad’s a total loser,” Minho starts, and Jisung nods. “Not even that bad a guy. Easily led, I think.”

“Her mom tried to kill you, right?”

Minho laughs heartily at this. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that, but yeah, she considered it. I think she was threatened by my sex appeal. Honestly, I don’t blame her. So what happened?”

“Oh, the usual. Dahyun showed up late and by the time she’d got there I’d already been accused of having an affair with one of the maids, her mom was mean, I almost cried, Dahyun got mad at the Ki-my _dad_ , and then I ran away,” he says, and Minho stares at him. His mouth hangs open in shock. Then, after a few seconds of silence, he huffs out a laugh. “Sounds like a trip. I feel like you’re leaving shit out, though.”

Jisung shrugs. “I don’t wanna bore you. It was pretty uneventful, honestly.”

“Uneventful?” Minho repeats, and Jisung nods. “The fuck do you consider eventful, then?”

Jisung hums. He looks pensive, and his legs stop swinging as he loses himself in thought. “One time, a few years ago,” he starts, leaning back against the window and looking at Minho, who’s leaning closer in intrigue, “there was this banquet, and a chef made some food that my dad really didn’t like. So he went into the kitchen and got _so_ mad, it was ridiculous.”

“What a bitch,” Minho says, and Jisung nods rapidly. “I know! He was getting really mad at him, right, so the chef was like ‘well if it’s that bad you can cook your own food!’ and then my dad was like ‘fine! I will!’ and he set the kitchen on fire.”

“You’re kidding,” Minho laughs, and Jisung shakes his head, giggling. “I wish I was! I still get nervous anytime he’s left unattended near an oven.”

“Worst thing my dad’s done is…” he trails off, then sighs. “Nevermind, I don’t have anything funny.” The smile has fallen from Minho’s face. His happiness was so pretty, and now that it’s gone, Jisung feels like the sun will never shine again.

“Do you think King Han unintentionally committing arson was funny?” 

Minho shrugs, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. Everything is right in the world again when the smile returns to his face. “Kinda, yeah. I feel bad for you, though.”

Jisung frowns. He knows that probably isn’t how Minho intended it to sound, but now he’s expressed pity for him, Jisung feels like that’s all this conversation is. Not an attempt at building friendship, but a Samaritan act. Minho sees the disappointment on Jisung’s face and quickly corrects himself.

“Not, like, y’know. I just think the King seems like an asshole.”

Jisung nods, and he’s not smiling anymore. When he speaks again he’s polite, restricted, and Minho’s only now noticing how different he sounds. “I think that’s enough about myself. So, what’s the deal with your family? You don’t have to talk about it, of course, but-”

“I know enough of your baggage,” he starts, and Jisung laughs sadly. “It’s only fair I share some of my own. So, any questions? Or should I just list off problems chronologically?”

“Christ, um, whichever you prefer! I’m all ears!” he says, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. Minho hates himself for even thinking this, but Jisung looks cute, and it makes his heart race. “Alright, well, my family don’t talk to me. Or I don’t talk to them. It’s kind of a joint effort,” he laughs, and Jisung looks sad.

Minho doesn’t care about it that much. Yeah, when he was fourteen and his parents abandoned him, that kind of sucked. But look at him now! He’s the same fruity klepto he was all those years ago, but now, he’s hot.

And that’s the best way to be.

“It’s not that bad, princey,” Minho says, but Jisung can’t hide the emotion on his face. He stops hugging his knees and his arms fall by his side. Jisung hesitates for a moment, his hand shakily hovering in the air, before letting it rest atop Minho’s in a feeble attempt at comfort. Minho can feel himself blushing, and he’s furious.

Not at Jisung, but at himself. Han Fucking Jisung is sitting with him, and Han Fucking Jisung is touching him, and Minho can’t believe he’s let himself get to this point, and he can’t forgive himself for so thoroughly enjoying the company of none other than Han Fucking Jisung. What makes it worse, though, is that Minho doesn’t think there's anything he can do about it.

He’s trying so hard. Minho would do anything, absolutely anything to hate this. But as he flips his hand over to press their palms together, Minho realizes that no matter how hard he tries to convince himself, Jisung isn’t Judas.

Maybe Dahyun was right. Maybe she was God this entire time. 

“We really don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jisung says softly as he looks down at their hands, and Minho smiles. Yes, Dahyun is definitely God, and she’s definitely orchestrating this. That bitch. Even when she’s in a different room talking to Chaeyoung about something completely unrelated to Minho and his silly little gay antics, she’s getting her way.

“Yeah,” Minho says, sighing. He holds Jisung’s hand for a moment before letting go, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning back. “Sorry for bringing down the mood.”

“Don’t be! I’m the one who asked, I-”

“You can stop talking, buddy,” Minho says, and Jisung laughs in embarrassment, scratching the back of his neck. “That sounds like a good idea,” he mumbles, and Minho giggles.

Really, he’s not sure why he brought Jisung here. He would claim he didn’t want to talk to him, but everyone and their mother knows that’s not true. Everyone except Jisung, of course, who still lives majorly under the impression that Minho is simply waiting for the right moment to execute his assassination plan.

Maybe he is. For a while, he was, but Minho isn’t sure anymore. He isn’t sure of anything anymore. All Minho really knows is that Jisung is a person. He’s still a prince, and that’s awful, but again, that’s not his fault, and Minho can’t keep pretending it is.

So yes, in a way, Jisung sucks. But Minho doesn’t hate him.

He never really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i made a twitter! it's @candyjaehee, feel free to follow if u want :D  
> and as always, thank u for reading~


	10. TEN : Pine Sol Scented Air, Somewhere That's Green

Dahyun is still so incredibly in love with Chaeyoung that it’s kind of pathetic.

She could’ve sworn she was over it. She told her she was, and she thought she meant it, but apparently not. Because as Chaeyoung holds her hands and tells her about her day, Dahyun can’t stop staring at her lips. And she can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss her. Technically, she already knows.

A few years back, before Dahyun had figured herself out fully, she confided in Chaeyoung that she might like girls and, after asking for consent, Chaeyoung kissed her. There was no passion to it, no love, but it was still a kiss. And while Dahyun didn’t fall at that very moment, it didn’t exactly sway her in the opposite direction. It was a kiss. Dahyun’s first kiss, too.

She went on to kiss a couple people after that. Mainly men, in forms of public rebellion against a mother who thought her a whore, but some girls, too. Kissing girls was different. Even when completely passionless, kissing girls was just better. 

Their lips were softer. They stained hers shades of pink and red, left a lingering fragrance of peach or strawberries, and they were always soft. Not a single guy Dahyun kissed had ever heard of chapstick. Aside from Jisung, but he doesn’t really count. When Dahyun thinks of people she’s kissed, she thinks of whatever or not it meant something, be it to her or to the other party involved.

None really mattered to her.

There was a game of spin the bottle, once, where she made out with four different girls in one night, but to this day she can’t remember a single one. Their lipstick blended together and she was too tipsy to focus on defining details, and when morning came she didn’t know the name of the girl sleeping next to her. 

They kissed, Dahyun knew that much. She also knew that the girl wasn’t Chaeyoung. So, with a feeling of guilt now lying in her stomach, Dahyun pet the sleeping girl’s head and headed back to her own kingdom.

“My life is actually a nightmare,” Chaeyoung says, and Dahyun laughs, brushing strands of hair behind her ear. She looks pretty today. She looks pretty every day, but that solidary grey streak running through otherwise jet black hair suits her so well, and Dahyun feels privileged to even look at her. 

“Just say you have plans,” she suggests, and Chaeyoung sighs. She looks at Dahyun like she’s insane and Dahyun just shrugs. “Yeah, that’ll work,” she says sardonically, shaking her head and leaning her chin on her hand. “I’ve already done that! Several, several times.”

“Okay, well, tell him you have a boyfriend!”

Chaeyoung quirks an eyebrow at Dahyun, then smiles, clicking her fingers. “That? That might work.”

“Of course it will. When have I given you advice that hasn’t worked?” she asks, and as soon as Chaeyoung opens her mouth Dahyun is hurrying to shush her. “Rhetorical question. Let’s just focus on the fact I’m a genius.”

“I said _might_ , princess. _Maybe_. He might ask to meet this boyfriend of mine, what do I say then?”

Dahyun shrugs. Her problem-solving abilities have already been exhausted, and while they normally extend further, this is one subject she’s utterly lost on. She doesn’t know how to turn down a man. Yes, she’s turned down guys before, but apparently the way she executes said denial is “unfair.”

That’s one of the reasons Dahyun hated the bachelor system so much. She’d be set up on so many dates with so many different men, and it didn’t matter how politely she told them she wasn’t interested at the night’s end, they still took it personally. It never was, though. For to be personal Dahyun would’ve had the intention of hurting them.

But again, she never cared that much.

No, she could never care that much about a man. She never cared that much about a lot of girls, either, but they could handle rejection. So could Dahyun. Hence why, when Chaeyoung told Dahyun she wanted to stay friends, she was completely, totally fine.

“You’re friends with that baker, right? I’m sure he’d be willing to pretend,” she says, and Chaeyoung tuts, unsure. “I don’t know. He doesn’t look like my type.”

“Nobody looks like your type, because your type doesn’t exist, because you have no standards,” Dahyun says, and Chaeyoung scoffs. “That’s not true! I have extremely refined standards, you’re just jealous I have better game than you.”

“Bullshit! Total bullshit!” Dahyun half yells, and Chaeyoung laughs. There’s a tiny fire in Dahyun’s eyes so captivatingly overdramatic that she can’t help but feel enthralled by it. “You know that’s not true!”

“Do I?” she asks, leaning in and winking, and Dahyun rolls her eyes. “Go on, then,” she nods. “Tell me your type. What traits must a lady have to be worthy of affection from the great Son Chaeyoung?”

Chaeyoung hums a pensive note. She glances up at the ceiling, and it’s clear she hasn’t thought about this beforehand, which further leads Dahyun to the conclusion that she was right, and Chaeyoung wrong. She would never be jealous of her. Of her girlfriends and one-night-stands, yes, but jealous of Chaeyoung herself? That’s ridiculous. Laughable, really. Dahyun’s only jealous of the fact that Chaeyoung gets to look at her every day.

“Do you mean physically, or...?”

“Do you really think I’m that shallow?” Dahyun asks with a gasp, clutching her chest in feigned offence. “Of course I mean physically.”

“I don’t know. A sense of style, I guess?” Dahyun frowns at this, and booes her. “That’s a cop out and you know it. Come on, there has to be something you like," she says, but Chaeyoung doesn’t seem swayed into changing her answer. “I’ve got nothing, I’m sorry. Why, what are _you_ into? Aside from Jisung.”

“Shut up,” Dahyun mumbles, her cheeks red, and Chaeyoung laughs. She looks down for a minute, unsure of what to say. She knows her answer backwards, she sees it in her sleep, but she doesn’t think being honest is a good idea. They haven’t talked about it since they were teenagers, and it hasn’t been a topic of conversation in years. Dahyun feels no need to cause problems by telling the truth.

“Boobs,” she says finally. Chaeyoung snorts. “You’re such a fucking dork,” she sighs through laughter, and Dahyun pouts. “I answered the question! Unlike some people…”

“Boobs too, I guess,” she says, but Dahyun doesn’t seem satisfied. “Plagiarism. I’m not getting anything out of you, am I?” she asks, and Chaeyoung nods, grinning. Dahyun sighs dramatically and leans forward. She’s not far from Chaeyoung’s face now. While a part of her feels the need to panic over how pretty she looks up close, Dahyun is calm. She’s used to looking at her, and while it still makes her heart pound, it’s manageable. “I don’t really notice looks.”

Dahyun knows this. Dahyun knows that a girl’s face or body is the last thing that Chaeyoung swoons over and she hates it, because if Chaeyoung were a little more shallow maybe she’d have a chance. Obviously, though, she’s not. And it sucks.

“So?” she asks, poking her in the arm. Her voice sounds a lot less jokingly angry now, and she speaks softly, innocently curious. “What _is_ your type?”

“Someone nice? No, that’s too broad, forget I said that.” She stops speaking for a moment to sigh in frustration, fidgeting a little as she does. “It's hard to explain. When I like a girl, it's nothing specific. It's just… her. Does that make any sense?”

Sadly, it does. Dahyun nods. “I get it,” she says, and Chaeyoung smiles. “You know what Minho’s into?” she asks suddenly, and Chaeyoung moves closer towards her in intrigue, her eyes wide and full of stars. Dahyun smirks. “Jisung.”

“Very funny,” she laughs, clearly not believing it, and Dahyun scoffs. “I’m serious,” She starts, throwing her hands up. “Look, neither of them will tell me about it, but they had a… moment last week. Again, I have no idea what actually happened but I’m assuming it was at least a little homoerotic. Minho’s obsessed with him! I’m certain, Chaeng, I’m willing to bet real money that they’ve either fucked, or are planning on fucking.”

“Should we ask?” she asks, and Dahyun looks confused before remembering that Jisung is supposed to be waiting outside for him. She blushes when she realizes this, a little embarrassed about forgetting, and shakes her head. “No luck. He’s just gonna deny it. If we’re gonna confront him about it, we’ll need a full blown intervention.”

“I’d hate to be your husband,” Chaeyoung giggles, and when Dahyun pouts she grabs a nearby pillow and hits her gently with it. “Uncalled for.”

In theory, she’d be a good wife. But not in the traditional sense.

When Dahyun thinks of marriage, she thinks of her fiance, and of the kingdoms they plan on merging. She thinks of when they pinky promised each other to remain friends for life, and to always support each other through both royal and personal problems. She thinks of Jisung, and no one else. Why would she think of marriage with anyone else? She honestly does want to marry him. Sure, she doesn’t want to have children with him, nor does she want to be romantically committed to him in any form, but a marriage would be highly beneficial in her (somewhat unrealistic) dream of demolishing monarchy as a whole.

Putting that aside though, Dahyun still loves him. Just not in a way a wife loves her husband.

She’d still be good to him, that’s for certain. She’s always been good to Jisung, in ways some lovers fail. But there are certain things she just can’t do for him. He doesn’t hold it against her, because Jisung’s the exact same: he can’t fall in love with her. Not like he could fall in love with a handsome knight or a bitter but endearing servant, and not like how Dahyun could fall in love with one specific baker.

No one could ever love another person in a way comparable to how Dahyun loves that one specific baker. If they could, she’d know, because she would feel it. If anyone else’s heart could swell to the size of her own they’d rule the world together. But that could never happen, and Dahyun is surely bound to feel this way for the rest of her days, alone and undesired by the one she wants most.

“Boobs!” Chaeyoung yells, and Dahyun flinches.

“What was that for?” Dahyun asks, her mouth falling open in shock, and Chaeyoung laughs. She tries to answer but the look of sheer dismay on Dahyun’s face distracts her from coherent thought, and it takes a few moments for her to regain the ability to speak. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, still giggling. “I was just checking you were still conscious. You zoned out pretty hard.”

“I was just busy thinking about how much you suck,” Dahyun says, and Chaeyoung shakes her head. “I’d be a great wife and you know it.”

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t,” Chaeyoung says. She sounds genuine. “I just wouldn’t wanna be your husband. Y’know, because I’m not a man.” Dahyun laughs a little, and she can feel herself blushing, embarrassed by how personally offended she got. “Still,” she mumbles, not knowing what else to say. There are a couple of comments running aimlessly across her mind, but none that she’d actually say out loud. Then, “I wouldn't mind being your wife, though.”

Dahyun laughs and looks up at Chaeyoung in shock. “Did you just propose to me?”

Chaeyoung shrugs, winking as she does so, and Dahyun almost chokes. “At least take me out to dinner first,” she manages through a fit of coughing and Chaeyoung giggles. “What do you mean, you wouldn't mind being my wife? You’re a little late to the station, Chaeyoung, I’m getting married in January.”

“I know, I know, I’m just… thinking.” Dahyun waits for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Chaeyoung just sits there with her thoughts and doesn’t elaborate. Dahyun picks up the pillow Chaeyoung threw at her earlier and hits her with it somewhat forcefully, knocking her over in the process. She yelps, giggling as Dahyun proceeds to gently beat her with it. “You can’t just say that, you bitch! You have to explain!”

“This is assault!” Chaeyoung yells, attempting to worm herself away, but to no avail. Dahyun drops the pillow and pushes herself up with her hands. She stares down at Chaeyoung, panting a little, long straight hair falling past her face and pooling on the floor. It acts like a curtain, slightly darkening everything Dahyun sees and ensuring that Chaeyoung is the _only_ thing she’s even able to see.

Dahyun’s trying to retain an expression of anger but she can’t help smile. It’s impossible to be unhappy when Chaeyoung’s mere inches beneath her own face, when she’s smiling back up at her like a giddy child, when she looks so pretty. She always, always looks pretty. “What are you thinking?” Dahyun asks, bending her elbows to lower herself down closer to Chaeyoung’s face until she can feel her breath against her skin.

“I think we’d make a great married couple,” she says quietly, giggling, and Dahyun’s arms wobble a little. Chaeyoung lifts her hands to press them against Dahyun’s shoulder and steady her. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Dahyun shakes her head. “Not even a little. Please, tell me exactly why you think that.”

“You definitely know what I mean,” Chaeyoung says again, and Dahyun, again, just shakes her head. She definitely doesn’t. She can think of many reasons why she’d thrive as Chaeyoung’s wife, but none that are mutually agreed on. She’d be good as her wife because she’s completely enamoured her, because she’d gladly hold her at night, and she’d do pretty much anything to make her happy. Even though she’s currently trying to hide her feelings, Dahyun can’t help wanting Chaeyoung to know how much she loves her.

“We've known each other for how long? I get that marriage is a scam, but," she pauses, and Dahyun can hardly believe her eyes - Chaeyoung is blushing. "It feels different with you. It's easy to love someone you've known so long, but after that much time, most couples don't really like each other. But I like you. As a friend, yeah, but as... I don't know. It's hard to describe," she says, and a strange silence falls over them. Chaeyoung laughs. "Oh, I could bake our wedding cake,” she suggests finally, and Dahyun immediately collapses on top of her. Her arms had been weak for a while now but the mention of a wedding is simply too much. She attempts to push herself off, but as soon as the initial shock (and slight pain) has worn off, Chaeyoung sits up, and pins Dahyun against the floor. It’s the exact same position they were in moments ago, but reversed.

Dahyun feels like she could die. Chaeyoung looks at her, smiling, and suddenly an earthquake the magnitude of Aleppo’s is rippling through Nuhan and shattering the streets below, trailing destruction from each end of the kingdom up to Dahyun’s bedroom, shattering the ground beneath her.

Perhaps that’s an exaggeration. Either way, Dahyun is in agony.

“Chaeyoung?” Dahyun asks, her voice quiet. Chaeyoung hums in response. All Dahyun wants to do is kiss her. The opportunity is there; she'd only have to move a few inches to close the gap between them, and the way Chaeyoung is staring at her lips almost makes Dahyun feel as if this could be mutual. But that's just wishful thinking.

Chaeyoung likes her, yeah, but she has no fucking idea what that means. It's just friendly. They've transcended the bounds of romantic and are in love with each other platonically, that has to be all it is, Dahyun can't fathom the idea that it's not. She closes her eyes.

“Do you like it here?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “Yeah. It’s alright! I don’t know if it’s better than home, but it’s definitely not worse. Besides, you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

Dahyun manages to sit up, and as she does the smile falls from Chaeyoung’s face and turns to something of worry. She looks upset. Dahyun averts her gaze to the floor, frowning, and just as Chaeyoung attempts to ask her what’s wrong she speaks. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?” Chaeyoung asks, confused, and Dahyun looks at her. “Being… gay.” Dahyun doesn’t sound entirely sure of herself, and Chaeyoung laughs. She assumes it’s a joke. But again, but with more conviction in her voice this time, “you’re being gay! I don’t get it!”

“Is that a problem?” she asks, giggling a little, but Dahyun still doesn’t find it funny. She searches her mind for something to say but nothing works. Every response her mind can produce sounds either homophobic or yearning, and neither of which properly encapsulate how she feels. That’s the problem; Dahyun doesn’t know how she feels. She feels like a dumbass, mainly, but she also feels like she’s being led on, and that hurts. It should be fine, but it’s not.

None of this is fine, and to be entirely honest? It never was.

There’s silence. Dahyun isn’t sure how to answer, so she just doesn’t. Her arms are crossed and her heart feels heavy and Chaeyoung, no longer laughing, places a finger underneath Dahyun’s chin and tilts her head back towards her. They only hold eye contact for a moment before Dahyun lunges forward and kisses her.

In terms of technique, this is the worst kiss either of them have ever had. Within the first moment of Dahyun leaning in she unintentionally bites her lip, prompting her to yelp, and cause what started as a lust-driven frenzy to immediately devolve into almost childlike giggling against each other’s lips. But in every other sense?

It’s perfect.

Chaeyoung’s calloused fingertips feel rough against Dahyun’s cheek but it’s a comforting sort of pain, one she’d gladly feel again and again without hesitation. Dahyun mumbles something against Chaeyoung’s mouth, but it’s unintelligible, and Chaeyoung begrudgingly parts from her to let her speak. “Your lips are chapped as fuck, Chaeng,” she giggles, and Chaeyoung tackles her to the ground, letting out a warcry as she does.

“I can’t believe you!” she says, and Dahyun can’t stop herself from laughing as Chaeyoung wraps her arms around her and tickles either side of her waist. “Ah, no, I’m sorry! Have mercy!” she pleads, but to no avail. “Should’ve thought about that before, princess.”

“Wait, wait,” she says, grinning, and Chaeyoung slows to a halt. “You better have a good defence.”

“Are we, y’know, like… Y’know… Are we?”

Chaeyoung blushes. Even though Dahyun hasn’t really said anything, her limp wrist and quirked eyebrow speak a thousand words. After a moment, Chaeyoung nods, and Dahyun feels like she could cry. “For real? What changed?”

Chaeyoung pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue and ponders for a moment. Then, “you’re getting married to a man. I know it’s not real, but it made me think about stuff, and I… I guess I don’t want to see you with anyone that’s not me. I’m not that selfish without a reason. I meant what I said, princess. I like you a lot. I think I always have," she admits, and Dahyun is in shock. "I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

More silence, but it’s comfortable this time. Dahyun rests her hand on the side of Chaeyoung’s face and leans in to kiss her again. 

Her heart is still pounding but she feels at ease, and it’s a lot softer and less messy now. She smiles against Chaeyoung, and after a few peaceful moments, laughs. Chaeyoung pulls away and looks at her in confusion. “I just remembered,” she pauses, too busy giggling to speak, and Chaeyoung almost feels nervous. She can’t think of a single thing more important right now, and she has no idea why Dahyun would stop so suddenly unless it was monumental. “We told Jisung to wait outside.”

Chaeyoung feels her eyes widen and her cheeks turn red, and she hurries to her feet, but Dahyun grabs her wrist and stops her. “He’ll understand. Stay here?”

While part of her wants to feel bad, she decides to take Dahyun’s word for it and sits back down beside her. And for the first time in quite some while, Dahyun feels much, much better than fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lesbians (heart emoji) i wanted to do another dubchaeng specific chapter and I felt like it was time for them to finally get together so... here it is! our regularly scheduled minsunging shall return on fridau but for now thank u so much for reading, and i hope u enjoyed :]


	11. ELEVEN : So About That Palace Food

Jisung hates his life.

As Dahyun tries and fails to make his tie look presentable, Jisung can’t help but sigh. He’s getting really fucking sick of dinner parties. “I hate this,” he groans, and Dahyun scoffs. “Imagine how I feel. At least you don’t look like a straight person.”

“Thanks, Dahyun, that really helps,” he says, his tone dripping in sarcasm as he tugs at his tuxedo jacket to flatten its creases. Dahyun, who's desperately trying to wedge her foot into a high heel, winks. “No problem. Do I look okay?” Jisung briefly looks her up and down for any stray hairs or dirt that might have made its way onto her long satin dress, and sees nothing out of sorts. “Yeah, fine. Me?” Dahyun tuts, and narrows her eyes at him. “That tie still looks wrong.”

  
“I know! It won’t sit right! I’ve tried it like fifteen times and it’s still uneven I don’t fucking get what wrong with it! Everyone’s gonna stare at it and think I’m a disgrace and say I’m having an affair and that I was with my mistress minutes prior to stepping out and they’ll think you’re a terrible wife for allowing me to let others see me in such a disheveled state and your mom’s gonna go bonkers on both of us and my old man’s gonna-”

“Jisung!” Dahyun yells, and he stops immediately. His heart is racing and his breathing is quick and short. “Breathe, Jesus Christ. You’re being erratic. Just calm down, okay? It’ll be fine, just…” she stands from the bed with an exasperated sigh, wobbling a little as she does, and takes a hold of Jisung’s shaking hands. “In for five, out for five. You’re alright,” she says softly, guiding Jisung along. He inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, and shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry, I just-”

“It’s fine. Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, letting go of Jisung’s hands and practically sprinting out the door. Before Jisung has time to ask a single question she’s gone. Within moments his heart is beating three times per second again, so, in an attempt to calm it, he sits on the bed on the rocks himself back and forth. He can hear people in the corridor. His ears are ringing too much for him to be certain of anything that’s being said, but he can imagine every possible conversation, and each word that pops into his mind makes him feel worse than the last.

Right when he’s about to spiral, the door flies open, and there stands Dahyun, accompanied by Chan. Jisung’s body relaxes and his face falls into a smile. With the door open everything is so much louder, but as terrible as the excess noise is at least he’s not alone. As soon as Jisung stands, Chan is enveloping him in a warm hug, his soft shushing louder than the crowd of hundreds gathering outside. “Hey, it’s alright.”

Dahyun stands in the doorway, staring at her acrylic nails, wishing she could just rip them off. “Take your time,” she comments, and the pair reluctantly pull apart. “You look great,” Chan smiles, and Jisung just groans. “No I don’t. I look like a dumbass idiot loser who can’t tie a tie.”

“I think that suits you,” Chan comments, grabbing both Jisung’s shoulders and eyeing him closely. “Ah, okay. I see where the problem is,” Chan hums idly to himself as he ties Jisung’s loose ends, patting his cheek once he looks presentable. “Let me see,” Dahyun says, pushing herself off the doorframe and towards Jisung. She shrugs. “It’ll do. Come on, let's get this over with.”

The palace is, once again, packed. And Jisung is once again ready to lose his fucking mind. Yes, he’s lived here for the past 20 years, but that means nothing. None of these rooms feel like a home, none of them feel familiar. Each section of the building is full of faces he doesn’t recognise and even the few he does feel like strangers, because Jisung knows he doesn’t belong here. He feels like a fraud. Dahyun runs her thumb up and down his hand. “You still with me?”  
  


“Barely,” he whispers back, and Jisung prays that the ground splits and swallows him whole. Because if he’s forced to smile at one more of these bastards-

“Hey, Princey,” someone says, and looking up from his feet, Jisung sees it’s Minho. “Oh, hi,” he responds, and immediately Minho is alarmed. Something’s not right. The Han Jisung Minho knows he would never greet him so nonchalantly, and even if it were forced, he’d still have a smile on his face. Yes, something is terribly wrong. “You good?”

  
“Peachy, thanks. Why wouldn’t I be good? Do I look like I’m not good? Because I’m peachy, buddy,” he snaps, running his hands through his hair. Minho scoffs. “You don’t seem very peachy. What’s up?”

“Can’t,” Jisung says quickly, and Minho just stares at him. Even though Dahyun’s holding Jisung’s arm she’s too busy entertaining some distant relative to care for their conversation. His eyes dart across the floor but don’t fall on Minho for even a moment. “Not now. I’m sorry. It’s too loud, I can’t hear shit, I’ll talk to you later. Sorry, Minho, sorry.”

Minho doesn’t care. Of course Minho doesn’t care. Why would he? No, if anything, he’s relieved he doesn’t have to talk to Han Jisung. Because there’s nothing he wants to do less than talk to Han Jisung. He doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say, nor does he want to even hear his voice. Because Han Jisung, being the royal that he is, sucks.

He wants to be mad. But really, as Dahyun steals Jisung off elsewhere, Minho is more worried than anything else. He shakes his head then turns around and sprints to the kitchen, deciding that the best way to forget about Jisung is to actually work for once.

“You’re on thin fucking ice,” Hyunjin spits as soon as he sees him, and Minho looks offended. “I’m working my ass off here! So is everyone else! Because it’s our job,” he says in a hushed, angry whisper, shoving a plate into Minho’s hand with such force it almost knocks him. “And it’s something we just have to do.”

“Hyunjin, calm down-”

“Calm down?” he repeats, now yelling, but no one looks at them. It’s so loud and busy that even if Minho were bleeding out on the ground, no one would notice. “Calm down? Are you actually telling me to calm down? Who do you think’s been getting harassed by old women all night? A cougar, Minho, a cougar slapped my ass earlier. I'm barely making enough to feed myself, do you think I can afford trepanation, too? How the fuck do I cope with that that?”

Minho opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by Hyunjin immediately continuing his rant. “Not that you would know! No, you’ve been off gallivanting God knows where with God knows who-”

“I’m sorry! Jesus Christ, you hag, I’m here now! What do you want me to do?” He asks, and Hyunjin throws his arms up in a flamboyant gesture of frustration, causing the glass of champagne he’s holding to spill over at the top. He groans. “Be useful! You’ll figure something out, it’s your job,” he says, and when Minho looks at him like he’s insane Hyunjin storms off and mutters a string of curses underneath his breath.

Minho usually doesn’t pay that much attention to Hyunjin. He overreacts to everything, but tonight feels different, and for once he actually empathises with the guy. He’ll apologize tomorrow. Tonight, though, Minho’s busy entertaining the masses. Even though he hates it, he’s kind of good at it. Especially when it comes to banquets. 

“Everything alright here?” he asks a table of well-dressed fossils, and he smiles politely before they have time to answer. “That’s good. If there’s any problem you know where to find me,” he says, immediately slipping away. No one knows where to find him. Not just at dinner parties, but in general. Minho always seems to be just floating from place to place within the palace, no regard for location, completely separate from everyone else. Honestly, he’s satisfied like that. Minho doesn’t want the world to know his whereabouts.

What he does want is to know where Jisung went, and why Dahyun pulled him away so quickly. He tries to work off the worry but he can’t. Minutes pass, and those minutes turn to an hour, and after that hour Minho’s grown well and truly tired of attending to the wealthy. 

He slips back into the kitchen as discreetly as possible, his ears ringing from the heightened volume. He’s not sure it’ll ever quieten down. It’s so very loud, and his head is pounding, and he still hasn’t seen Jisung again. Minho considers looking for him but he knows it’d be futile, this palace is huge and really, he could be anywhere. Minho sighs. Wherever Jisung is, Minho just hopes he’s alright.

Sadly, hope accounts for nothing, and Jisung is about to have a panic attack.

“Sung,” Dahyun whispers, squeezing his hand tightly. It’s so, so loud, and even though he’s physically grounded, Jisung feels like he’s being suspended fifteen hundred feet in the air. He’s dizzy and sweaty and confused and even though he knows Dahyun is speaking to him he can’t understand a word she’s saying. “Look at me,” she says, tugging at his hand, and it takes Jisung a few moments to even understand the request. He moves his head slowly to meet her gaze. 

“Stay with me, okay Sungie?” she asks, and he doesn’t give any response. Dahyun forces a smile to try and reassure him. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I don’t know, Dahyun,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible over the chatter in the halls. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do this.” Jisung swallows hard and Dahyun can feel his hand shaking in hers. If there were any way she could accommodate for him she would, but there isn’t. The world is collapsing around him and Jisung just has to let it.

So he does.

He breathes in for five, out for five, in for five, out for five, and smiles. “Just let me do the talking,” Dahyun says, and Jisung quirks an eyebrow at her. He lets her do that most of the time anyway without being told to, why is it suddenly an issue? “I’m gonna go do something. You’re just gonna have to trust me, okay?” She asks, and Jisung feels even more confused. He definitely doesn’t trust her.

Every now and then, Dahyun will tell Jisung to simply trust her without any context on why, and whatever follows next is always a disaster. He doubts this time will be any different. Were it any other night, he would argue against her. But tonight? Jisung’s too exhausted to even consider it. Dahyun squeezes his hand one last time before letting go, turning on her heel, and slipping away into the crowd. It only takes a moment for Jisung to lose sight of her entirely and realise he’s alone.

He hates it. He hates how, by association, he knows everyone in this room, and, by association, they know him too. But do they really? They know his father for sure, but has Jisung ever actually spoken beyond a surface level conversation with any of these people? He scans the room for a familiar face he can pass the time making small talk with but sees none.

Then, he spots Minho. 

He’s in and out of the kitchen, and he looks busy enough that Jisung considers just looking the other way and letting him work without distraction, but he feels bad about blowing him off earlier. Would Minho even want to speak to him right now? Jisung watches him converse with a small group of guests across the hall and sighs. For a minute he hesitates, but as soon Jisung as sees Minho turn to head back into the kitchen he decides to go after him.

Well, he _tries_ to go after him. A hand clapping down on his shoulder shocks him into halting and when Jisung swings around he sees Dahyun looking at him. She’s smiling. Not the sweet, friendly smile she usually wears, though. This smile is different, more mischievous. Jisung can feel his heart in his throat.

“What did you do?” He asks, and her grin widdens. Jisung can’t be sure how she’ll answer, but he knows one thing is certain: it can’t be good. She pats his shoulder and lets her arm fall back down by her side. She looks so elegant, so wise, so utterly powerful that all Jisung can do is stare at her in awe. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, and Jisung does the opposite. 

“Dahyun,” he starts, moving closer to her and speaking in a whisper. “Don’t tell me you-”

“Told everyone you have TB?” she interrupts, and Jisung begins coughing fervently. He’s aware of the irony. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Again? Why did you do this again? Do you not remember how it went last time? They put me in a fucking isolation chamber, Dahyun, could you not have just said I have a common cold?” He asks, his voice steadily gaining volume as his dismay increases. Dahyun shrugs. “No one cares about that,” she shrugs, and Jisung scoffs. “That’s the point!”

“You’re never satisfied, are you? I do so much for you and _this_ is my thanks!”

“Why the fuck would I be thanking you for telling half the kingdom I have Tuberculosis?” He doesn’t intend to yell this line, but he does, and it can be heard clear as day as the once-bustling hall turns still to look at him. He can feel their eyes burning into him, and Jisung wants nothing more than for the ground to split and swallow him whole. Dahyun tries her hardest not to laugh.

“Because,” he starts after a long caesura, shifting his gaze along the floor. The room is perfectly silent as it patiently waits for Jisung to continue. “That’s… My illness to disclose… And the people deserve to hear from me, their prince… Not a… Silly little woman!” he says, feigning conviction as he waves his hand dramatically in an attempt to seem more stern. Dahyun snorts. She quickly plays it off as a sob, however, then spins on her heel to totter like a maiden in distress into the kitchen, hiding her face in her hands as she does.

Jisung hates his wife.

“Th-the doctor isn't sure yet,” he fumbles as he rushes into the kitchen, and the present staff all step a few feet back when he enters. Jisung sighs. “I get it,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I’m not going to infect anyone, though, so please don’t look at me like that.”

His plea is to no avail. A few people exchange glances, and the atmosphere is uncertain for a few moments before the crowd, like a herd of cattle, begin bounding towards the other exit in a stampede. Among the chaos of their fleeing, he sees one figure remain solid behind a counter. He’s being pushed, and a few people even beckon him forward, but he doesn’t move. It’s not until the crowd has almost fully evacuated does Jisung see who it is.

Of course, it’s Minho. 

Who else could it be? A feeble smile makes its way onto Jisung’s face. Not because he’s happy; no, Jisung is boiling inside, but because it’s finally quiet. The commotion has moved far from earshot, and for the first time all night, he can hear his own thoughts. And for a moment, that’s all he can hear. His inner monologue is all.

That is, until he hears Minho. From a few feet ahead he lets out a pathetic little mewl and immediately, Jisung feels his heart fall into his stomach. He advances forward to find Minho sitting on the floor, hovering over an array of broken glass, his hands shaking. “Min?” Jisung asks, and that’s when he sees it.

There’s blood on the floor. 

It’s not a lot, but it’s definitely fresh, and it’s coming from an open wound on Minho’s hand. Jisung drops to his knees and gently takes a hold of Minho’s arm to examine the cut. “It’s fine,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, and Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in concentration. Minho clearly isn't fine. He looks like he’s in pain, and his hand is a mess with tiny shards impaling various lines in his palm and pricking his fingers.

“Try and stay still,” Jisung says, slowly raising Minho’s hand up to his face so he can clearly see the exact location of each shard. “I can do it myself-”

Jisung shushes Minho softly, letting his fingers graze the outer section of his hand before he finally prepares to work on removing the glass. “No, please, let me. I’m sorry, this will hurt considerably,” he says, and Minho nods. “I would tell you to hold my hand, but both my hands are a little busy so… Feel free to pull my hair?”

Minho giggles at this. It takes a minute for Jisung to realize the implications of what he’s said but once he does he blushes, ducking his head in embarrassment, and Minho lightly punches his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. The offer stands if you need it though.”

Again Minho laughs, then winces in pain as the glass shifts and cuts him deeper. “Is it okay for me to start? If you need a minute, or want me to get you some water or something that’s-”

“Just get it over with,” Minho sighs, and Jisung obliges.

He’s careful. Of course Minho is still in pain, but Jisung tries his very best not to further injure him, picking out the pieces with as much precision as he can. “Don’t worry, by the way,” Jisung says after a period of silence, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Minho hums in confusion. “I don’t actually have TB.”

“Oh, I know. Dahyun says that about everyone.”

Jisung giggles a little, and the way he moves causes him to slightly drag a shard across Minho’s skin. Luckily it doesn’t cut him, and Minho barely feels it, but he still winces on impact. Jisung could cry. “I’m sorry, oh God, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re fine,” Minho says, patting Jisung’s thigh to comfort him, and Jisung smiles a little. “I’m almost done. I’m sorry for taking so long, I just don’t wanna hurt you. Clearly, I’m doing a great job at that…”

“Hey, Princey,” Minho says after Jisung removes another shard from his hand. His voice is soft and when Jisung looks up to make eye contact he sees that his expression perfectly matches. He looks beautiful. His eyes are wide and sparkly, his lips slightly parted, and Jisung can’t look away. “You didn’t have to do this in the first place. So don’t worry, okay? I think you’re sweet.”

Jisung looks at Minho like he just proposed, and Minho scoffs, visibly embarrassed. “Really? You think I’m-”

“You heard me, you bastard, I’m _not_ saying it again. Fuck, my reputation is ruined.”

Jisung plucks the final shard from Minho’s fingertip and lifts his hand up closer to his face to gently kiss an unbloodied patch of his palm. Minho blushes. “You’re sweet, too. I know you don’t want people to see that, but I do, and I think you’re-”

“If you say something corny I’m shoving the rest of this glass down your throat,” Minho threatens, and Jisung laughs heartily. “Alright, alright, I guess you’ve suffered enough for one night,” Jisung says with a giggle, pushing himself off his feet. He holds out his hand to help Minho stand. “I’ll take care of the mess on the floor after. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Minho looks up at Jisung, takes his hand, and smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!


	12. TWELVE : The Student Becomes The Doctor

“Ah, Han Jisung,” Changbin starts, clapping his hands together, and the whimsical tone in his voice makes Jisung roll his eyes. “You’ve recovered well?”

“Shut up,” he says, and Changbin giggles. “It’s funny, I didn’t think you could get TB twice and survive. You’re a real fighter.” He starts to laugh, but is quickly cut off by Minho leaning across the counter and punching him in the arm, hard. Changbin whines as Minho sits back down. “Uncalled for,” he says, and Jisung smiles at him. “Very called for.”

“It’s not like you to stand up for Princey, Minho,” Changbin comments. Clearly, he’s thinking about the last time he saw them together, and how Minho indirectly threatened Jisung to the point where Changbin had to kick them out. It’s only been a few short months since then, but it feels so far in the past that Minho almost forgot about it entirely. “Hey, are you finally boning?”

Jisung, who was innocently sipping his apple juice up until this point, now begins choking. Changbin steps back and opens his mouth to speak but is quickly stopped by a loud “I don’t have TB! Stop acting like I have TB! Dahyun already admitted it was a li-” Jisung stops himself to avoid exposing her any further. She owes him so badly for this. “-A mix up! Stop looking at me!”

“I don’t know,” Changbin sighs, biting his lip. He looks serious, and Jisung can feel his stomach churn as he anticipates what he’ll say next. “I think, for the health and safety of my darling customers,” he says, a hand on his heart, “I should-”

“I’m boycotting this establishment!” Jisung yells, slamming his fists on the table and rising to his feet so quickly it makes him dizzy. “Come on,” he says, turning to look at Minho and holding out his hand towards him, “I’ve had enough of this place. Care to help me write a negative review to post on the doors of a local church?”

Minho looks at Jisung like he's insane. “No, actually, not at all. I care to have a drink on my night off. But uh, I appreciate the offer,” he laughs, rolling his eyes and taking a swig of his drink. Jisung feels like crying. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, his voice small, and Minho gives an exaggerated nod. “It sure is! Have fun with your boycott, baby,” he teases, briefly squeezing Jisung’s thigh to wish him well, and Jisung turns bright red. He looks at Minho, then Changbin, then back at Minho, and again at Changbin, then turns on his heel and promptly leaves the pub. Jisung hates his life.

The sky looks beautiful tonight; almost fully absolved of any clouds, so much so to the point where Jisung can count the stars and see the moon. It’s not full yet, but it’s still big and bright and its light guides Jisung down the cobblestone street back to his palace with ease. He enters with a sigh. 

“You’re back early,” Dahyun says as he stumbles into the living room. She sounds… annoyed? Jisung thinks it’s a bit weird, but chooses to believe her voice is tainted due to her insistent stance that she did the right thing at the banquet. He flops down on the recliner in front of the fire and again, with more passion this time, sighs. “Indeed I am,” he says, slumping further down into the chair. “Is that a problem?”

“What?” She asks, clearly taken aback. “No, not at all. Of course not. Why would it be a problem?”

Jisung shrugs. “I don’t know, I was just asking. Are you busy?” he asks, and Dahyun’s eyes shift from side to side as she toys with her ring. She looks on edge, maybe nervous, and Jisung’s never been so baffled. “Earth to Princess,” he says loudly, waving a hand in front of her face, and Dahyun flinches. “What? Uh, no! No, I’m not busy at all, no, of course I’m not busy. Why would I be busy? I’m a woman of course,” she laughs, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m never busy, unless I’m fulfilling my woman duties. Have I told you I love you?”

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, and Dahyun grabs his arm to pull him close and whisper in his ear. “I think your dad is onto me.”

“No, you’re kidding,” he says after a moment, leaning back to look at her in hopes he’ll see her smiling, but his hope is futile. Dahyun’s serious. He can tell from the look in her eyes, from the tone of her voice, and from the fact that she'd never dream of joking about this. “No, fuck, why you do think that? You know how he is, he acts like _everyone_ is less than him. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s something, Ji,” she whispers, and he leans in again so he’s the only one that could possibly hear. “Someone saw me and Chaeyoung. We weren’t even doing anything, we were just talking but I-I guess I forgot we were in public and I must’ve kissed her. I don’t even know who it could’ve been but whoever it was must’ve told your old man because now he’s watching me like a goddamn hawk and I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jisung says, pulling Dahyun into a hug to comfort her. She’s clearly distressed, and even though Jisung now shares her worry, he tries his hardest to remain sturdy for her sake. It’s not like Dahyun to ever be this upset by something, so the least Jisung can do is provide comfort on the rare occasion she visibly needs it. “Everything’s alright. We’ll figure something out.”

“What if we don’t?” she asks, her voice cracking as she hides her face in Jisung’s neck. Jisung pets her head and speaks in a soft voice. “How do you mean?”

“What if we don’t figure something out? I made stupid mistakes, and I’ve been careless, and what if that carelessness costs us everything?" she asks, and Jisung wants to say something but he can't. There's nothing he can say that isn't a blatant lie. He pets her head gently as lets her continue. "I don’t want to keep hiding but I know, _you_ know that no one can know about this.”

“Know about what?”

Dahyun freezes. She knows who it is, and she can’t bear to look at him. Jisung knows, too, and even though he feels the same fear, he lifts his gaze immediately from Dahyun to the man standing before them, “Father,” Jisung muses, a little shocked, and Dahyun starts shaking. Her lip is quivering and her skin is cold to touch. Jisung embraces a little tighter, and in spite of how very hard she’s trying not to, Dahyun just can’t contain herself anymore. She lets out a sob, and the King feels himself boil over.

“I knew it,” he says, his voice vitriolic as he glares at Jisung. “I knew you two were keeping something from me. Go on,” he says, stepping closer. He towers over Jisung and glares at him so intensely it makes him sweat. “How about you let me in on your little secret?”

Dahyun lifts her head the slightest amount but Jisung eases her back down almost immediately. “It’s okay, darling,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll do it.” He looks up towards his father again, and with each second they continue making eye contact Jisung feels more and more afraid. He takes a deep breath before answering. “Obviously, Dahyun and I have been planning for our future together, and recently... We started talking more about a plan to have children.”

Jisung pauses for a second so he can sigh, and Dahyun lets out another sob into his neck. “But we knew even before I proposed that it wasn’t certain. You see, Dahyun has problems with her period.”

Dahyun gasps. She didn’t think Jisung had it in him. She’s used her period as a scapegoat when talking to King Han hundreds, thousands of times, but she never imagined Jisung would pick up on it when the time came for him to start lying independent of her. But now? Honestly, she’s nothing short of proud.

“She has an irregular cycle, and when she does get her period it’s... painful, unusually so," he says. He sounds genuine. Jisung's heart is pounding out of his ass, but somehow, The King still seems to be believing him. "We already know it’s highly unlikely we’ll ever be able to conceive but we plan on seeing a doctor within the next few days. We’ll be going alone. I know you would’ve wanted us to tell you, but you must understand how difficult this is on my poor wife. Please, father, give us time.”

The King isn’t sure what to say. He feels a lot of emotions; namely contempt. Unless Jisung fucks a maid, his bloodline ends here, and the Han dynasty will die with him. It’s a lot for him to take in. So, instead of responding, he simply leaves. No anger, no condolences, nothing. He just leaves.

Jisung didn't expect anything major, but even some props on his acting would've made him feel better than this.

“He’s gone,” Jisung says finally, and when Dahyun reluctantly lifts her head and meets Jisung’s gaze he sees tears still streaming down her face. He wipes under her eye with his thumb and forces a smile. “It’s okay,” he says softly, but it still takes a few minutes for Dahyun to calm down enough to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Dahyun whispers, and Jisung’s heart is breaking. “I keep fucking up lately. I just want everything to go well for both of us, but nothing goes how I want it to.”

“Don’t say that. I’d be in deep shit without you, you know that," he assures her, and she worms herself out of Jisung’s embrace to rub her eyes. They’re all red and puffy from crying, and if she could see her reflection she’d probably make a joke about having pink eye. "I know you would. But what if that's just a coincidence? I don't know if you've noticed, Ji," she says, forcing herself to laugh. "But I have no fucking idea what I'm doing."

Jisung frowns. "Neither do I. But I think that's okay."

“You’re right,” she mumbles, sniffling. “I’m least I’m still sexy.”

“You never stop, do you?”

Dahyun giggles. “Nope.” she sighs deeply and fans her face with her hands, then looks at Jisung. “I’ve gotta say,” she starts, smiling. “Infertility? Man, I wouldn’t have thought of that. I would’ve just started crying, as you can tell from the fact I literally did just start crying. Excellent work, Princey.”

Jisung feels flattered, his cheeks turning red and a smile returning to his face. “What can I say? I had a good teacher.”

For a while, there’s silence. Dahyun rests her head on Jisung’s shoulder and they allow themselves time to quietly recharge from the utter exhaustion they both feel. Then, “I’m sorry about telling everyone you have tuberculosis.”

Jisung laughs and pats Dahyun’s shoulder. “We’ve all done it. Seriously, though, it’s fine. I know you were just trying to help.”

“Next time,” she starts, and Jisung already dreads how she’ll continue. “I’ll be the one to have TB. And I won’t say I got it from you. Y’know, because that would defeat the entire purpose.” Jisung nods knowingly. “True, very true. Hey, next time, how about we just fake a physical injury? That would go down pretty well.”

“I don’t know,” she tuts. “Can you fake a broken leg? I mean, not on short notice. You’d have to prepare the cast beforehand and if anyone saw you obtaining it they’d get suspicious and… Ugh, it’s just a lot of effort. I say we do it.”

“Pardon?”

“Why half-ass it? Next time we need to get out of something, break my leg. I probably won’t even feel it,” she says. Jisung looks at her, her face still slightly swollen from the height of her crying, and he concludes that she’s gone actually insane. “Dahyun?” He asks, and she hums in response. “I think it’s about time we get you into bed.”

Dahyun laughs. “You’re on a roll tonight, Sungie,” she giggles, and sighs loudly as she pushes herself off the couch and to her feet. Jisung stands to escort her up to her room but she holds out a hand to stop him. “It’s fine. I’ll go myself.”

“Sure you don’t want me to walk up with you? Really, I don’t mind-”

“Nah, it’s been a tough night all round and I have some… business to attend to.”

Jisung quirks an eyebrow at her. Since when has Dahyun ever done any business? He opens his mouth to ask but Dahyun beats him to it. “Buckwilding. Buttering the biscuit... Baking.”

“Ohhhhh.” he’s silent for a moment after the realization hits, then, “gross! I didn’t want to know that! God, Dahyun, why would you tell me that? Why?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, you silly little virgin,” she laughs, and Jisung groans in disgust. “Can you go now?”

“Sure thing,” she says, patting him on the shoulder then turning to head upstairs. She’s right about to leave when she stops in the doorway, looks back, and calls out Jisung’s name. He hums. “What I said earlier, I meant it. I love you.”

Jisung stops cringing for a moment to smile. “I love you, too. Tell Chaeyoung I said hi.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” she says with a laugh, and with that, she’s gone. The door is closed for only a few moments before it swings open again and Minho stumbles in. “SungSung!” he says, holding out his arms as he stumbles towards, and with each step he comes closer the smell of booze becomes more overwhelming. “I missed you,” he says, and he’s so drunk that Jisung can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Regardless, he seems happy to see him. Minho falls on top of Jisung and giggles.

“Is that so?” he asks, and Jisung’s heart swells when Minho nods and sits down on top of him, tossing his legs over him. “Mhm,” he hums, slinging his arms loosely around Jisung’s neck. “You should’ve stayed. With me. It would’ve been way better if you had.”

Jisung feels like the earth is collapsing in on him. Not for one minute had he ever imagined Minho would be a clingy drunk, yet here they are. Sure, he’s seen Minho pleasantly buzzed on wine before, but that was different. Minho wanted him dead back then. But now? Words aren’t needed. The smile on Minho’s face as he nuzzles his head underneath Jisung's chin says it all.

“Come on, Changbin isn’t that bad,” he says, and Minho lightly punches him in the shoulder before letting his hand fall to rest on Jisung’s thigh. Not once since meeting Minho had he ever imagined that he would touch his thigh, let alone twice in one night. He must be dreaming. 

_That’s it_ , he reassures himself, _this entire night has been nothing but a fever dream. Or perhaps I’m in a coma? Yes, that’s right, and when I wake up from my twenty-year slumber I won’t even be a prince. I’ll be a normal man who isn’t being sat on by a drunk person._

Any moment now, Jisung expects to jolt awake. No luck. Minho’s sighing draws him back to the situation at hand and Jisung concludes that were this simply a figment of his imagination, he wouldn’t be sweating nearly as much as he is now. “He’s boring,” Minho whines, and Jisung laughs. He wasn’t expecting that. “He doesn’t even have a cool backstory. How cool can you be if you’re a bartender? _I’m_ cool. I used to steal, you know that?”

“Used to?” Jisung asks, and Minho nods. “I’m trying to stop. But isn’t that cool? I’m a thief in the night, Princey, I steal from the rich and... eat their bread.”

“Why's that?” he asks, and Minho sighs, shifting around in Jisung's lap as he tries to make himself more comfortable. “I had to. Pops kicked me out when he heard I was a boy kisser. Didn't have any money, any food, so I started stealing. It was just bread at first, which is a pretty lame crime, but I was hungry. Anyway, don’t execute me for that. It's in the past!”

“You’re trying to steal my wallet right now.”

“No, no,” Minho giggles, trying hard to sound inconspicuous. “I just wanted to touch your ass. Wait, that’s worse... I’m totally trying to steal your wallet.” Jisung sighs and wraps his arm around Minho’s waist, shaking his head. Maybe someday a few years down the line he’ll ask Minho more about his childhood, but the fact that he's currently drunk makes Jisung hesitant to press the issue. “Did you have a nice night, at least?”

Minho pouts. “Would’ve been nicer if you didn’t leave me with Changbin.”

“You could’ve come with me! I mean, I asked you to,” he says, and Minho suddenly looks embarrassed. He nuzzles his head into the crook of Jisung’s neck and mumbles something entirely incoherent. “What was that?” Jisung asks, and Minho whines. “That’s different. I can’t just hang out with you on purpose. I don’t want you to think I like you.”

“You don’t like me?” Jisung asks, but he already knows the answer. His next statement feels almost cruel, but really, he can’t help himself. The opportunity to tease Minho isn’t a common one, therefore it must be seized. “You won’t mind if I move, then-”

“No!” Minho drawls suddenly, wrapping his arms tightly around Jisung’s back to trap him in the embrace. “I hate you,” he mumbles, clutching onto his shirt, and Jisung pats his back with a hearty laugh. “You want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“You’re not wrong,” Minho says after a minute, his voice unusually small. Then, he giggles. “Forget I said that. Jisung?”

It hits Jisung like a ton of bricks when he realizes - that’s the first time Minho’s ever said his name.

“What’s up?”

“Please stay with me.”

Minho’s voice sounds different when he says that. He’s still slurring his words, and he’s definitely not gonna remember a second of this come tomorrow morning, but Jisung will. Jisung isn’t sure he’ll ever forget it. “You didn’t need to ask,” he says softly, rubbing circles into Minho’s back. “I wanted to do that anyway.”

And for a while, he stays. At least until Minho is well and truly asleep, Jisung stays with him. But he knows things will be different come morning. Minho will be sober by then. He’ll have a raging headache, and he won’t recall the night that’s passed, and as much as it hurts, Jisung thinks it might be better this way. Better to suffer in silence, right? He waits until Minho is snoring to carry him bridal style back to his own room and tuck him into bed. He's so pretty like this: his mouth agape and body relaxed, Jisung's never seen him look so peaceful before. There, he plants a gentle kiss on Minho’s forehead, and quietly leaves again.

Like nothing ever happened.


	13. THIRTEEN : Stars In The Night Sky, Reflecting In Your Eyes

Minho wants to make one thing perfectly clear: this isn’t a date.

Sure, it sounds a little romantic. Sitting at the top of a small hill, gazing up at the stars, simply being alone together - Minho blushes thinking about it. Were Han Jisung anyone else, perhaps this would be a date. Perhaps it would be the best date either party would ever go on. They’d fall in love under the moonlight and share their first kiss of many underneath the stars.

But Han Jisung is simply Han Jisung, and Han Jisung is getting married to a woman soon.

It’s stupid, really, but Minho can’t stand thinking about it. At first he justified his jealousy by blaming it on Dahyun, and at first that was it. But as Minho finishes his climb to the summit and sees Jisung waiting patiently for him with a smile on his face, he can’t deny that it’s more than that. “You came,” Jisung says in almost disbelief, and Minho huffs out a laugh as he sits down on the grass next to him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Jisung shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you did,” he says softly, and Minho punches him in the shoulder. “Dumbass. I wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

Minho looks away from Jisung, and Jisung looks away from him, and they both stare straight down to see the kingdom below them. “It looks so different from up here,” Jisung says after a few moments of silence. “Especially when it’s bright out. I can’t come here during the day often, but whenever I do, everyone looks so small.” He leans a little closer to Minho and points down at a tiny figure standing outside a bar. “Do you know that guy?”

Minho squints and leans forward to try and get a better look at him, but to no avail. Whoever it is has zero defining features from this far away. He looks at Jisung and shakes his head. “Me either. That’s why I like it up here, because I have no idea who anyone is.”

“You know who I am,” Minho says, and Jisung looks pensive. “Mhm, kinda.”

“Only kinda?” Minho asks, a little confused, and Jisung nods. “Yeah. I still don’t know your favourite flower,” he says, and Minho laughs. “Seriously? Do you actually care?” he asks. To be entirely honest, Minho had forgotten the question was ever posed to him in the first place, so whatever answer he may have thought of giving is now gone from his mind. Jisung smiles. “It’s dumb. You don’t have to answer, I’m not sure why I even asked it.”

“It wasn’t dumb,” Minho says, patting Jisung’s back, and he blushes. “Just weird as hell. A much better question would have been "what's your favourite fruit?’” He says, and Jisung isn’t sure he understands. “Fruit..? It’s strawberries, right?”

Minho’s eyes widen in surprise. “Uh, yeah, actually, good job. I was just trying to make a gay joke but I’m...I’m flattered you knew,” he laughs. Jisung looks embarrassed. “You don’t get the joke, do you?” he asks, and shamefully, Jisung shakes his head. Minho smiles. “I’ll give you a minute,” he says, and after a few more seconds have passed, Jisung laughs. It's clearly forced. Minho knows this, and pats his back.

“At least you’re trying. Besides, I shouldn’t really expect you to get it - it's not your fault you’re straight.”

Jisung tries not to, but he can’t stop himself from giggling, and Minho feels more confused now than ever. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t believe you _still_ think that.”

Minho feels like the world is collapsing in on him. Really, there’s only one thing Jisung could be saying, and Minho knows exactly what the thing is, but he’s convinced it’s a misunderstanding. It’s just so far from reality. At least, it’s far from what's he _thinks_ is reality.

The more Minho thinks about it, the more sense it makes. But still, it’s so different to the preconceived idea that’s been labeled as truth in his brain, and he can’t bring himself to just accept it with no further explanation. Can he? No one needs a reason to be gay. Sexuality isn’t a logical thing, Minho knows this better than anything. If people had a say in who they were attracted to, then he would gladly be seducing a rich old woman to live off her pension and then collect her will, but alas, he isn’t.

Because Minho likes men. And, apparently, so does Jisung.

It makes too much and too little sense all at once and it gives Minho a headache. “So you’re…”

“Gay?” Jisung asks, and Minho nods. For whatever reason, Minho can’t look at him. “Yeah,” Jisung starts, his voice calm as he turns to look out straight ahead, “Yeah I am. I don't really tell people, but they tend to guess after a while. I’m... surprised you didn’t.”

“I hoped you were,” Minho says, and as soon as he’s said it he regrets it. His ears turn red and his stomach fills with butterflies when he hears Jisung laugh from beside him. “Really? He asks, and Minho mumbles an affirmative note. “Well, I mean, obviously. Shut up.”

“ _Obviously_?” Jisung repeats, and Minho hides his face in his hands. He can hear the smile in Jisung’s voice. “Do you want to eat glass? I would very happily feed it to you, Princey,” he says after a moment, voice slightly muffled against his palms, and Jisung lightly punches him in the shoulder, laughing. “Sounds like a date.”

“You could’ve told me earlier,” Minho says, finally looking up and making eye contact with Jisung. “I probably would’ve been nicer to you.”

Jisung shrugs. “I considered it, but… I don’t know. I never found the right time, and you seemed so convinced I was in love with Dahyun that I, uh, I guess I was afraid it’d disappoint you. It’s stupid. I know. You’re not disappointed though, right?”

Minho’s eyes widen in shock. “What? Of course not! I’m happy you’re not getting played by her. Besides, it’s cool to have another gay friend that isn’t Felix. I love the guy, but God, he makes me feel so single.”

Jisung laughs. “As someone who’s engaged, I understand completely.”

“That must suck for you,” Minho says, and when Jisung doesn’t respond he starts again. “Y’know, being engaged. I can’t imagine having a wife makes getting a boyfriend any easier. To be honest, I’m surprised you don’t have one already. Are you just… not into romance?”

Minho isn’t sure why, but the thought of Jisung having a boyfriend makes him feel bad. He frowns to himself. Maybe he’s homophobic.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Jisung asks after a few moments of silence. His voice is quiet, serious, and as much as Minho hates to make a promise he isn’t sure he can keep, he nods. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never kissed a boy before. I haven’t even held hands romantically. Pathetic, isn't it?”

Minho huffs out a laugh and immediately, Jisung gasps. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just… funny. I, a lowly servant, still have better luck with men than you, a literal prince. World works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” he says whimsically, and Jisung grumbles. “You don't have an entire population relying on you to be straight, do you?”

Minho shrugs. "I suppose I don't. If it makes you any feel better,” he starts, laying back on the grass and staring up at the stars, “I’m sure you’d have more luck if the circumstances were different.”

Jisung laughs a disheartened laugh and lets his back rest against the hill, lifting his arms behind his head. “You think?”

“Oh, definitely. Have you seen yourself?” Minho asks, looking over at him, and Jisung scoffs. Even though he’s sure it’s a joke, he still blushes. “Princey, you’re the whole package. If you weren’t a monarch I’d be courting you myself.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Minho,” he starts. Then, he laughs. “But you don't have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m serious, Your Highness,” Minho says softly. He hesitates only a moment before letting Jisung’s fingers interlace with his and rest against the grass. He runs his thumb along the edge of Jisung’s palm as he quietly speaks again, and says “we should talk more often. You’re convinced I hate you.”

“Can you really blame me?” Jisung asks, and Minho giggles a little, gently squeezing his hand. Jisung doesn't say anything as he does, but internally, he's checking off his bucket list. “Guess not. Do you know any constellations?”

For a few seconds, there’s silence. Minho looks at Jisung, who’s looking up at the sky, and he looks so, so pretty. His cheeks are puffed and his eyebrows are furrowed in focus and Minho feels something he’s never felt before. He doesn’t know what that feeling is, but it makes him lightheaded, and he thinks he likes it.

“I think,” Jisung starts, his voice soft as he points up towards an array of tiny bright dots with his free hand and leans his head in a little closer to Minho’s. Minho looks up from his face to his finger, and then to the night sky. “That one right above us, that’s the big dipper.”

“They’re all above us, dumbass.”

Jisung giggles. “Good point,” he says, tilting his head and poking the air. “That one. Look at the little blue one, right there,” he says, and Minho does. His eyes intently follow above Jisung’s finger as it shakily moves from star to star. It glides straight across, then down, then draws a box. “That’s the… North star, I think? Maybe not. Have I mentioned that I have no idea what I’m talking about?”

Minho laughs at this and looks at Jisung again, who seems to be blushing a little. “Is that just in general?”

Jisung shrugs. “A little. What about you?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Minho says, grinning. “Now, sadly I’m not a fucking loser, so I don’t know any real constellations… but I was thinking we could make our own?”

Jisung’s been trying his absolute hardest to forget the other night. The night where Minho was drunk as all hell, sitting comfortably on his lap, saying he missed him. Calling him Jisung, asking him to stay. He wants to forget because he knows Minho doesn’t remember it either. If he did, they wouldn’t be here right now. Minho would be too embarrassed, too regretful of that interaction, and he’d be elsewhere.

But he’s not. Minho’s right here next to him, holding his hand and smiling. “Make our own?” Jisung asks, and Minho nods. “Yeah. See that yellow one?” Minho asks, pointing, and Jisung hums. “There, to there, to there, to… here. That’s a sunflower.”

“Looks more like a dick and balls to me,” Jisung mumbles to himself, and Minho sits up to look down disapprovingly at him. His stare is blank and unimpressed. Jisung almost considers feeling bad, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but giggle, and after a few moments of trying and failing to look disappointed, Minho laughs too. “You’re so dumb,” he says, shaking his head, and Jisung’s still grinning.

“I think you underestimate my artistic perspective, Minho,” Jisung says, and Minho scoffs. “Yeah? Enlighten me, Princey. Tell me where the artistry lies in our sky penis.”

“My pleasure,” he starts, sitting up. Still holding Minho’s hand, Jisung scoots closer to him until their shoulders are touching. “This is actually a very Elizabethan example of a double entendre. I’m sure you’re familiar with the works of Shakespeare, and his ever sophisticated references to dicks.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” Minho says, looking over at Jisung. He simply shakes his head as he turns to make eye contact. “My dearest Minho,” he starts, his whimsically soft voice making Minho blush. Their faces are so close together that Jisung can hear Minho’s breathing hitch when he lifts their interlaced fingers to gently kiss his knuckles before continuing. “I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”

Minho hates his heart for stopping when Jisung looks at him. He hesitates for a second, still hanging on Jisung's words. Then, quietly, "What does that have to do with the sky dick?”

“It’s poetic, Minho. It’s poetry! Penis poetry! You simpleton! Can you not comprehend the sheer brilliance, the woe that is nature's ability to mimic art's ability to mimic nature?”

“I think you’re just saying words now, Princey,” Minho says with a laugh, and Jisung’s crazed expression softens into a smile as he looks away from Minho and back towards the sky. “I do that most of the time. I’m not entirely lying, though. You can find art in anything if you try hard enough. It’s easy with nature. Even dicks composed of stars can be an analogy for something beautiful as long as you want them to be.”

“You’re something else, y’know that?”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Minho smiles. Jisung’s still looking up, examining the clear night sky, and Minho’s still looking at him. As much as he hates the status associated with the word, Minho can’t deny that Jisung looks like a prince. He’s ethereal. Really, he can’t think of any better way to describe him. “It’s a good thing,” Minho says softly, and he lifts his hand to brush a strand of hair behind Jisung’s ear.

Finally, Jisung turns to him, and Minho’s never noticed it until now but Jisung’s eyes are glistening. They’re prettier than any stars. “You’re mostly right, but you don't always have to search for it. Some things are beautiful even if you don’t want them to be.” 

Jisung looks confused. “Like what?”

“Do I have to say it?” Minho asks, his voice quiet, and slowly, Jisung nods. Some hopeful part of his mind knows the answer. And while Minho knows it too, he just can’t seem to say it. Such a tiny word suddenly seems so monumental, and even though this moment could be so perfect so easily, Minho decides to ruin it.

“Me.”

Jisung laughs and shakes his head. “I should’ve expected that. It’s true, though. You’re-”

“Don’t say it,” Minho says quickly, pressing a finger to Jisung’s lips. “I’ll probably start crying if you do. Sorry, I-”

Jisung smiles, gently takes hold of Minho’s wrist, and pulls it down from his mouth to rest on his thigh. “Don’t worry, man. You didn’t ruin anything. And, uh, if you did start crying that’d be okay. It’d be kinda uncomfortable, but that’s fine. I should stop talking now.”

“You can keep talking if you want,” Minho says, his voice soft. “I like listening to your voice.”

For a second, Jisung considers rambling. More about stars, more about art, more about beauty and the many ways in which it can be portrayed, but he decides against it. He shares the same fear as Minho - ruining the moment. Which, when he thinks about it, seems ridiculous. And that’s because it is. The moment in question has been going on since they met, and even though it’s gone sour on numerous occasions, Jisung doesn’t think it could ever be ruined.

This is the type of moment that hangs and lingers and freezes still in the air for much longer than a moment, in the way moments sometimes do, and even though the air around them is cold Jisung is grateful for it, because that slight chill invites him to let go of Minho’s hand and wrap an arm around his waist. The night is silent but it’s a welcome silence. The moment passes, but another begins.

And that, in and of itself, is beautiful.

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, it actually does look a lot like a cock and balls,” Minho says, resting his head on Jisung’s shoulder, and Jisung giggles. “Like I said; you can find dicks in anything if you try hard enough.”

“Shut up,” Minho laughs, and so he does. Jisung traces shapes into Minho’s side with his fingers and continues quietly smiling to himself. He doesn’t feel the need to speak. If he dares say another word, he’s afraid he might spill over. Because at this stage, saying anything at all feels like saying too much.

“Minho?” He asks in spite of himself. Minho leans in closer to him and hums.

All Jisung wants to do is kiss him. And all Minho wants is to be kissed by him. Then, “nevermind. Just, uh, thank you.”

“For what?”

“A few things. Being my friend. Being… you," he says, then scoffs at how stupid he sounds. "All that stuff. Just," he pauses, thinking of what to say, but he falters. Words don't do justice to how he feels, and if they do they're too embarrassing to say aloud. Jisung presses a quick kiss to Minho's cheek and smiles. He feels strangely proud of himself. "Thank you.”

Minho grins and wraps his arms around Jisung’s bicep, nuzzling his head comfortably into the crook of Jisung’s neck. He never thought he and Jisung would actually be friends. It’s nice, though. Being friends is good, even if some terrible part of him wants to be more than that. Minho closes his eyes and smiles. “You too, Princey. You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, yes. gay people. thank u for reading, i hope u enjoyed ! <3


	14. FOURTEEN : One Hand, One Heart

“With this ring-”

“Too early, Jisung,” the priest interrupts, and all occupants gathered in the church groan in unison. Father Yoon’s voice is full of sorrow. He hangs his head, and King Han looks to Jisung. “How many times do we have to remind you? For richer, and for poorer,” The King starts, gritting his teeth as he steps closer, “in sickness and in health-”

“-To hold and to keep,” Jisung says, and suddenly, his father is standing right over him, tall as a mountain. Jisung swallows hard. 

Now that the words have left his mouth he knows he shouldn’t have spoken, but in the brief moment that it took to actually articulate that script, Jisung was sure he was doing something right. Yes, he’d made a mistake before, but this time he didn’t. He said the line right. In sickness and in health, to hold and to keep. That’s the right order, he knows it is, yet he still feels uneasy about his delivery. He isn’t sure what it was exactly, but Jisung knows he must’ve said something else wrong.

“That’s right, Jisung,” The King says, and he almost sounds proud. Jisung huffs out a breath of relief. Then, “so why do you keep getting it wrong? Are you doing it on purpose, maybe? Do you need attention that badly?”

Jisung looks at his shoes. 

He really likes these shoes. Even though they’re a little uncomfortable, they’re one of his favourite pairs. The leather goes with almost every outfit; the colour, a simple black, isn’t too flashy when attending weddings or funerals that aren’t his own, but on the occasion of a royal ball, still manages to complement his attire. The functionality of an outfit doesn’t rely on the shoes alone, but they’re still hugely important. He knows this to be true because the King now has a hand on his shoulder. It’s tight and uncomfortable, and as badly as he wants to distract himself he just can’t.

Jisung stops looking at his shoes. 

“Answer me,” he says, more of an order than a request. Feeble, Jisung shakes his head, and King Han scoffs. “You’re not a child anymore. Go on, speak.”

“No, sir, I’m sorry,” he says, and even though he knows it’s not enough, he doesn’t say anymore. “What are you sorry for?”

“Getting my vows wrong.”

“And why did you do that?” He asks again, and Jisung doesn’t know how to answer. He knows what the King wants to hear, but it’s not the truth, and he’s a bad liar. The only way Jisung can answer correctly is by convincing himself that he did, in fact, do this on purpose. “To waste your time,” he says in a low voice, and the King pats his shoulder. “That’s what I thought.”

“I won’t do it again, I promise. This time I’ll get it right.”

“I’d hope so,” the King says, finally letting go of Jisung’s shoulder, and as soon as he’s turned to stand among the Priest once more Jisung winces. It's sore. He knows his dad didn’t mean to hurt him, just intimidate him, but that doesn’t change how strong he is. He rolls his shoulder in an attempt to alleviate the pain, and Dahyun looks at him with pity in her eyes. Jisung shakes his head.

“For richer, and for poorer,” Jisung starts, and there’s no love in his voice. He’s supposed to sound happy. Not just that, he’s supposed to _be_ happy. He should be crying tears of joy, shaking with delight, beaming at the prospect of his future as a husband and king, but he’s not.

Jisung is fucking miserable.

“For richer, and for poorer,” Dahyun repeats. Her voice is soft, and Jisung can’t tell whether or not it’s genuine. He isn’t sure he cares. “In sickness and in health,” he continues, and again Dahyun repeats after him, taking his hands in her own. “To hold and to keep.”

“To hold and to keep.”

“From each sun to each moon, from tomorrow ‘til tomorrow,” Jisung says, steadily increasing in speed, and even though he hates this speech he feels like he could recite it backwards. Dahyun feels the same. She opens her mouth to echo Jisung’s vows, but is unable, as Jisung is rambling on his own now. 

“Make of our hands one hand, make of our hearts one heart.” Jisung is now speaking so quickly that, were this not prewritten and learnt off by all members of the congregation already, no one would be able to understand him. He swiftly grabs a ring from Father Yoon’s open palm and holds it tightly next to Dahyun’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Dahyun takes a second to allow Jisung to slip the ring onto her finger, then does the same to him. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“Give me strength,” Father Yoon sighs, and the sound reverberates throughout the cathedral like screaming in an empty cave. He's exasperated beyond belief, presumably because Jisung once again fucked up. “Marriage is a-a sacred institute!” He fumbles, and behind him King Han rolls his eyes. Jisung giggles. He knows he shouldn’t, but something about it just feels… Funny. Tragically so. Father Yoon claps his hand together. “Are you taking this seriously at all? You’re disgracing the church! You’re disgracing Christ himself, Your Highness. I can’t watch this a moment longer.”

With that, Father Yoon storms off towards the confessional box and locks himself inside. “We’re improving a little bit,” Dahyun says after a moment, and Jisung hangs his head. If he doesn’t laugh he’ll cry. “C'mon, it’s not that bad!” She says, and Jisung looks up at her solemnly. She knows, he knows, their parents know, the whole goddamn kingdom knows they’re lying.

“At least you’re… trying…” she says, but even that doesn’t sound very certain. Dahyun lets go of Jisung’s hands and sighs. “Yeah, maybe we should take a break.”

“That’s for the best,” Jisung says, and he looks over to his father for approval. King Han frowns, then nods. “It’s clear you’re not making any progress. Take a few minutes, we’ll reconvene after,” he says, turning to leave. Then, “Jisung?”

“Yes?”

“Come with me. We need to talk.”

Jisung’s heart is pounding in his ears. He remembers the last time his father told him they needed to talk, and he distinctly remembers how little talking was actually involved. It was more screaming, crying, and a lot of property destruction. Jisung remembers the last part extremely well. The fire from that night has long since died out, but he swears he can still smell the smoke.

Jisung doesn’t want to talk. Still, when Dahyun pats his back comfortingly and whispers “good luck”, he knows he can’t avoid it. Begrudgingly, Jisung falls in stride next to the King and says a silent prayer it won’t take too long. They walk to the back of the church and sit in the corner of an empty pew. Neither look at each other.

“Be straight with me, son,” The King says, and Jisung tries his hardest not to giggle. The irony isn't lost on him. “Do you really love her?”

“What?” Jisung asks, clearly taken aback. The King looks at him with a soft smile and claps a hand down on his shoulder. It’s not so suffocating his time, but Jisung still flinches at the touch. He feels so on edge. “Jisung, if you’re only marrying her to become king, then that’s okay. I did the same when I was your age.”

Again, “What?”, but with a lot more feeling this time. Jisung feels like he’s been shot. That’s a joke, right? His mom’s been dead for a long time, and if his dad feels nothing for her any more than that’s totally reasonable, but to have never cared for her in the first place? No, Jisung thinks, it’s just a joke. The King’s known for making jokes that don’t land. He’s heard plenty horribly offensive statements come out of his mouth over the past twenty years, but the most atrocious have always been followed by laughs. Jisung never finds them funny. He certainly doesn’t find this funny. But still, he laughs.

Because as terrible as it is, it’s still a joke, right?

“What’s so funny? Come on, Jisung, Father Yoon’s a nut. I’m sure marriage is some big important thing to some people, and that’s fine. But not for us. Us Hans are smarter than that. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?”

King Han has his arm wrapped around Jisung’s shoulder, and if not for the subject matter and the terrible implications of what he's saying Jisung would almost mistake this for a bonding moment. “Did mom know?” Jisung asks. He sounds naive and he knows it, but he still needs to know. “Y’know, that your marriage was…”

“Don’t be silly,” The King scoffs, and a weight lifts off Jisung’s chest. As long as his mother wasn’t hurt by the arrangement then he doesn’t care. She could’ve lied to any and everyone and Jisung wouldn’t care, so long as she wasn’t on the receiving end of a betrayal. His relief is short-lived, however, because apparently King Han wasn’t finished speaking yet. That’s the thing about The King - he never knows when to shut the fuck up.

“Of course she didn’t.”

“What the fuck?” Jisung asks, and in all his life, he can’t recall a single time he’s sworn at his father. He’s so accustomed to holding his tongue, and even though it’s not ideal, he’d learn to live with it. But something about this feels different. Whatever passive or full-blown aggressiveness he’d experienced up until this point was fine, and that’s because it was restricted to him. Even when he’d done nothing wrong, Jisung could excuse all criticism against him as being deserved. But this?

Jisung barely knew his mother. No child ever does. He knew her heart, though, and he knew it was good. Her heart was pure and kind, and it saw good in everyone, even her bastard husband, and that good heart of hers was weak. One day when Jisung was young, his mother’s heart broke. That’s what killed her.

He never knew why it broke. Like everyone else, he always assumed it was just a general health problem. He never had any reason to question that. His mother was weak, she always was, and good people don’t live very long anyways. It was awful, but up until now it made sense. However, as Jisung looks at the confusion on his father’s face, he feels his own heart burning. The goodness in his mom clearly skipped a generation.

Jisung doesn't feel very good right now.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” King Han says with a laugh, and Jisung’s stomach churns. “Your mother came from a very wealthy family, just like Dahyun does. It makes a lot of sense you’re marrying her.”

“I’m marrying her because I love her,” Jisung says. “If you insist. I’m just saying, it’s fine if you don’t. And it's fine if she doesn’t know that you don’t. Sometimes, that’s better. Either way, it doesn’t matter, as long as the wedding goes ahead. Think of it as a business deal. That’s all it has to be, kiddo. Don’t complicate it anymore than you have to. Just learn your lines, and everything’ll be okay.”

The King speaks in a hushed voice close to Jisung’s ear and truly, honestly, Jisung thinks they’re both insane. Actually, scratch that. Jisung’s pretty sure the whole kingdom is insane. Maybe even the whole world. Everything is so crazy, unbelievably so, and nothing makes any sense, and Jisung _knows_ he’s insane.

Months ago, Jisung and Dahyun sat adjacent to each other on the floor of his bedroom. “You can’t be serious,” Jisung said, a mix of disbelief and confusion on his face. He laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was ridiculous. “You want me to propose to you?”

  
“Wow, you sure do know how to make a girl swoon,” Dahyun grumbled. She adjusted herself to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Jisung, who glared at her like she was missing a few screws. And at the time, Jisung genuinely believed she was. “I _am_ serious, by the way. Think about it,” she started. “We’re friends, okay? And because we’re friends we don’t actually have to be a couple. We’d just have to act like one! No more turning down suitors, we combine our wealth, and take over both kingdoms at once!”

Jisung thought about it. He thought about it long and hard, and even though he didn’t love Dahyun in the way a husband is supposed to love a wife, he felt the need to go along with it. Sure, he wanted nothing less than to get married. But he knew he had to eventually. To Dahyun or to someone else it, it didn’t matter, it was still destined to happen if he ever wanted to become king.

Jisung didn’t want that either, though.

“I don’t know,” he said, and Dahyun groaned. She wasn’t prepared to let this go. “Come on, Jisung, it’s a win-win situation no matter what. Besides, think of what’ll happen if we don’t get married. Do you really want your old man to hold another wife finding party?”

Jisung shuddered at the thought. A second passed, and the air was tense. Then, he nodded, and Dahyun nearly cried tears of joy. This was all she wanted. All she wanted was the best for them. The best for Jisung, for his kingdom.

But what’s best for Jisung has never been what hewanted. What Jisung wanted was to stay single. What Jisung wants right now, as he sits in this church and contemplates his life, is for everything to stop. He has no idea what he wants, but he knows what he doesn’t want this. And what he doesn’t want is to be King Han.

But as the words repeat in his mind, and he thinks about the implications and of his response, Jisung realizes something. He’s not marrying Dahyun because he loves her. Even though he thinks he means it, really, he doesn’t. He loves Dahyun, that much is true. But marrying her? That’s as performative as anything. 

He’s just like his father.

“Your mom would want to see you get married-”

“Don’t talk about her,” he says quickly, and suddenly he’s shrugging King Han’s big hand off his shoulder and standing to leave. “Mom would want me to be happy. But mom’s dead now, so that doesn’t matter. I’ll do my lines right this time.”

With that, Jisung is striding back to the head of the aisle. Dahyun’s been waiting for him. “Hey, Sung, talk to me,” she says, and Jisung looks empty. She reaches down to hold his hand and his skin feels cold. “For richer, and for poorer,” he starts, and Dahyun sighs. “Jisung, what did he say?”

“For richer, and for poorer,” he says again, louder this time. “We’ll do the goddamn vows after, just talk to me,” she pleads, but once more she’s met only by “for richer, and for poorer.”

Dahyun sighs. Then, “for richer, and for poorer.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“To hold and to keep.”

“To hold and to keep.”

“From each sun, to each moon,” he says, and his delivery is slow, calm. Forced. Dahyun’s is the same. It's solemn and empty. “From each sun, to each moon.”

“From tomorrow, ‘til tomorrow.”

“From tomorrow ‘til tomorrow.”

“Make of our hands one hand, make of our hearts one heart,” Jisung says, pausing to deeply inhale. He forces a smile as he does and closes his eyes for a moment. “Make of our hands one hand, make of our hearts one heart.”

Jisung takes a ring from Father Yoon’s palm. He doesn’t stop to look at his face, but he’s sure it’s less pale and ghostly this time around. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, and his hands are steady as he slips the ring onto Dahyun's finger. She does the same to his and speaks her last vow quietly. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“There,” Jisung says, huffing out a sigh. “Simple. Just like closing a business deal. Can we go now?”

Father Yoon looks at King Han, appalled, and King Han shrugs. Jisung doesn’t wait for a response before storming off, practically dragging Dahyun by the arm as they make for the exit. “Jisung,” she says, and he still doesn’t answer. “What’s up with you today? And don’t try and say it’s nothing, I know something’s up. Is it your dad? Just-”

“It doesn’t matter, Dahyun! It never mattered! It doesn’t matter what’s wrong because there’s nothing anyone can do to fix it! It’s wrong, and it happens anyway, and I just have to put up with that. It’s for the best, isn’t it? Our marriage. It’s better for everyone if we just lie. That’s what my dad thinks, too. You wouldn't think it, but I’m just like him, aren’t I? We're both goddamn frauds.”

Jisung isn’t sure when he started crying, but the moment he stops talking he notices hot tears rolling down his face and dripping off his chin. Dahyun’s mouth is hanging slightly agape in shock. She steps towards Jisung to hug him and as soon as her hands touch his back he crumbles, falling into the embrace and sobbing against her chest, clutching the excess fabric at the back of her dress like he'll die upon letting go. “Please tell me I’m not like him.”

“Jesus, of course you aren’t,” she says, shock still evident in her voice as she runs a hand through his hand and holds him close against her. Jisung whines. He sounds like an injured puppy, and Dahyun’s heart is breaking. She’s just so fucking lost as to why. “Jisung, it’s okay,” she says, and he continues to sob. “No, no it’s not.”

“We’ll make it okay, then. We’ll figure something out. I’ve got you, Sung, you’re okay,” she whispers, and despite his mind’s best efforts to convince him not to, Jisung wants to believe that she’s telling the truth. Dahyun wouldn’t lie to him. Not on purpose, anyway.

He takes a deep breath. It doesn’t do anything because he’s still crying, but at least it confirms his lungs are still working. “It’ll be okay. Maybe not today, not tomorrow, but someday. We’ll get there eventually. Once we're married, things’ll be better.”

“You know that's not true,” he says, his voice cracking. Dahyun hates to make a promise she can't keep, and although the future is uncertain, she has faith in a better tomorrow. That, and she really wants Jisung to stop crying. She pats his back. Jisung's right; she's lying to him. But she's been lying for so long now it feels easier than facing the truth, and even if it only makes things worse in the long-run, Dahyun chooses to believe that things are going right for them. Maybe if she believes the lies hard enough, they'll eventually become the truth.

Honestly? She has no fucking idea.

"I promise," she starts, shushing Jisung in between her words, "we'll be alright." And even though there's no proof to back up her words, the way she says it makes Jisung feel like maybe, someday, they could be.

Just not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about leaving u on a bit of cliffhanger on minsung but i promise the last four chapters are........ Gay. anyways, thank u for reading nd i hope u enjoyed B)


	15. FIFTEEN : A Girl In A Dress, The Same Girl In A Different Dress

“Are you sure I can’t come?” Jisung asks, and Dahyun nods, flattening down her dressing gown. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see a bride’s dress before the wedding?”

Jisung blinks. “No, actually. Is it really?”

Dahyun shrugs. “No idea. But I want it to be a surprise! Besides, we hang out way too much, I don’t think it’s healthy.” Jisung pouts, crossing his arms, and Dahyun smiles softly at him. “You don’t hang with Minho too much,” he scoffs, jealousy evident in his tone. Dahyun laughs. “You guys are in love with each other. If it makes you feel better,” she starts, patting his shoulder, “Chaeng’ll be there too, so I’ll probably ignore him.”

“That _does_ make me feel better,” Jisung giggles, and Dahyun pets his head. “I know. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” She says, and Jisung nods. He’s clearly still a little upset that Dahyun's trying on dresses without him, and even more upset that Minho gets to judge her gowns and he doesn't, but he gets it. “See you tonight.”

* * *

  
  


The back closet Dahyun’s been piling dresses in for the past few weeks is, simply put, white.

White walls, white chairs, and, as most notably, white dresses. The only colour in the room comes from atop a loveseat couch which Minho and Chaeyoung are sat squished together on. “How old is this thing?” Minho asks, patting the arm a few times and marvelling at the tremendous amount of dust rising from it. Particles of lint drift through the air and settle on the hardwood floor. Dahyun shrugs. “No clue. Been in storage since like the 17th century, I think.”

“That’s older than I am,” Minho says, and Chaeyoung laughs. “You aged terribly.”

While her friends are bickering, Dahyun is attempting to dress herself. The first gown she’s chosen is slightly wrinkled, with a scrunched bodice, puffy sleeves, and a noticeably aged lace line at the bottom. She hates it. 

“You’re just mad I get pussy and you don’t,” Chaeyoung says at some stage. Dahyun giggles as Minho yells “why the fuck would I be mad about that?” in response, and she decides then is the perfect moment to spin on her heel and stand upright. It takes a second for them to stop arguing and look at her. When they do look up, they both fall silent. Dahyun clears her throat.

“This one was my mom’s,” she starts, looking down at the details with a quiet sigh. Not only is it ugly, but it’s old, and Dahyun hates both of those descriptors. “Before it was her's it was her mom's. She really wants me to wear it. Y’know, sentimental reasons.”

“It’s… Uhm…” Chaeyoung starts, lost for words. Dahyun smiles. “ _You_ look beautiful,” Chaeyoung says, leaning forward, and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “But.... Uhm…”

“Ugly,” Minho says bluntly, his voice dry. “I’ll say it! It’s ugly as fuck. Looks like it’s never been washed, _and_ it’s a hand-me-down? From a witch? Do better, princess.”

Dahyun nods. She appreciates the honesty, and the reassurance that her bloodline has absolutely zero taste. “Put it in the maybe pile,” Chaeyoung suggests, and Dahyun laughs. Minho is glaring at her like she’s just confessed to a murder. “The maybe pile? Dahyun, put it in the same pile as the firewood. It might burn better than it looks.”

“You dress like an old man, Minho,” Chaeyoung says as Dahyun turns her back to them so she can strip once more. The air feels cold against her bare skin as she rummages through the barrage of dresses to search for one that Minho won’t consider a hate crime. Again they’re arguing, and again Dahyun steps into a far brighter gown with long sleeves that hug her arms and a loose skirt. She doesn’t want to turn around. Sure, it’s an improvement, but that’s not saying much. Chaeyoung clears her throat, and reluctantly Dahyun turns.

“It’s better,” Minho says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. Dahyun tugs at the collar. “I don’t know. The sleeves ruin it.”

“He’s right,” Chaeyoung says, “but again, you look beautiful.”

Dahyun beams. She blushes, tilting her head to the side and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’. Minho frowns. “Stop feeding her ego. It’s awful, Dahyun, get changed.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. “Can you be a little nicer?” Chaeyoung asks, and Minho shakes his head. “Remember the Bible?”

“Not this again,” Dahyun sighs to herself as she pulls out a new dress. Minho shifts in his seat to look a confused Chaeyoung dead in the eyes. “In the Bible, everyone liked Jesus because he was really nice, right? And you know what happened to Jesus, Chaeyoung?”

Chaeyoung sighs. “No, Minho, please tell me what happened to Jesus.”

“Jesus fucking died, Chaeyoung! They killed him! I’m just saying, I don’t want the same fate,” he finishes, sinking back into the couch and looking up at the ceiling. He really doesn’t want to watch Dahyun get changed. “Alright, first of all that only makes sense if Jesus is real but let’s not get into that,” she says, and Minho quickly nods. They have more important things to discuss than the legitimacy of the old testament. Such as, “wouldn’t that make you Judas?”

“You’re twisting my words,” Minho says, turning to look at her again, and Chaeyoung looks baffled. “You’d sell Jesus out for being nice! We both know you would! You’re Judas, and I’m the shepherd the Virgin Mary married because it’s your fault my wife is suffering.”

In a very distant, and a very reversed way, this conversation sounds all too familiar. “When you two are done assigning each other roles in the nativity, I’d appreciate it if you looked at me.”

Chaeyoung looks up immediately. Minho takes a second to glare at Chaeyoung, and when he finally looks up, he gasps. “Holy shit.”

“Is that in a good way?” Dahyun asks, her voice quiet. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous. She’s pretty, she knows she is, and this dress is far superior to every other rag she’s tried on thus far. But the way Chaeyoung is looking at her makes her heart race. The expression on her face is unreadable, her lips slightly parted and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She’s studying Dahyun like a marble sculpture, searching for a single imperfection, and Chaeyoung finds none. They wait for Chaeyoung to speak. Then, “Minho?”

“...Yeah?” he says, confused as to why Chaeyoung’s called on him.

“Do you mind leaving the room for a minute?”

“No, no fucking way,” he says, leaning further back in protest. His body is sure to leave an imprint on the couch for days. “I’m not letting you guys fuck in here. Sorry to ruin your fun but I did not sign up for this, and do you have any idea how risky that is? I know that makes it hotter but fuck’s sake, guys, could you not plan this for another day?”

“We’re not gonna fuck, you weirdo,” Chaeyoung sighs, pressing her head against the palm of her hand. She rubs her face and looks pleadingly at Minho. He groans dramatically, pushes himself up, and steps towards Dahyun to take her hands. Her eyes widen in shock at his soft smile. “It’s gorgeous, by the way. You look perfect. Jisung’s a lucky guy.” He looks over to Chaeyoung, who's currently quirking an eyebrow at him. “As is Chaeyoung, I guess.”

Minho quickly drops Dahyun’s hands and makes for the door, the frown returning to his face. “I’ll just… wait outside. Have fun being gay, you assholes. Come find me when you miss me.”

They won’t miss him. The door shuts and before Dahyun can even ask what’s so important Chaeyoung is pulling her into a kiss, her arms tight around Dahyun's waist, holding her close. Dahyun feels safe in Chaeyoung’s arms, and even if it's only for a few brief moments all the worry Dahyun's felt since her engagement began is long gone. "What was that about?" She asks, and Chaeyoung smiles at her. "I have an idea."

Minho crouches down and presses his ear against the door. The voices inside are muffled beyond point of recognition, both speaking too low to be heard, and Minho sighs heartily. They know he's outside, and whatever they're talking about must be too private to share. “Dammit,” Minho mumbles to himself, shutting his eyes tight in hopes of heightening the senses in his ears.

Minho can only assume Dahyun and Chaeyoung have stopped talking as he can no longer hear either voice, nor can he hear the footsteps steadily approaching from behind him. Something taps Minho’s shoulder three times. “Minho,” the figure from behind him says, and Minho falls forward in shock, his knees and hands slamming against the ground with a thud. Begrudgingly, he twists his body to look up at the man speaking to him. Minho blushes out of embarrassment and scratches the back of his neck. “Howdy, Princey.”

As always, Minho looks like he’s just been caught breaking the law, and Jisung can’t help but smile at the mischievous look on his face. “Here,” Jisung says, extending a hand for Minho to pull himself up with. Minho graciously accepts the offer and hauls himself up, grabbing Jisung’s bicep for support as he tries to steady himself. Huh. _That’s weird_ , Minho thinks, darting his eyes over to where his hand grips Jisung’s arm, _since when was Princey so fucking built?_

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, his voice drawing Minho out of his thoughts and back to reality, and despite now standing solid upright he’s still holding onto him. He’d never admit it, but Minho quite likes being this close to Jisung. For more reasons than one.

First off, his face. Most of the time when they’re talking, Minho doesn’t get a very look at Jisung’s face, namely because he’s too busy trying to watch his body language to figure out whether or not anything he says is genuine. It usually is. Second, easily the most embarrassing reason, is that Minho honestly does enjoy Jisung’s presence. He hates even acknowledging it, but it’s true. Jisung is sweet. He’s not overtly buff, but he’s sturdy, and he’s nice to hold and be held by. Minho feels Jisung’s hand still resting on the lower part of his back and smiles.

The third and final reason is simple. It has nothing to do with Jisung as a person, and everything to do with his height. Or, his lack thereof. 

Han Jisung is exactly three centimeters shorter than Lee Minho. And for as long as he lives, Minho will thrive on the fact that even as a servant, as a complete nobody in the eyes of the rest of the world, he’s still taller than the prince.

Jisung notices Minho staring at his bicep, but he doesn’t seem to mind very much. “That was a pretty bad fall. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Minho shakes his head. “Eh, it’s fine. Guess I deserve it for being a nosey bitch.”

“Yeah, actually, what were you doing? Is Dahyun in there?” he asks, and Minho nods. “Chaeyoung kicked me out. She didn’t even tell me why! One minute Dahyun’s trying on her mom’s old dress, then we’re talking about the Bible, and the next thing you know I’m being sent outside to fend for myself. I get no respect around here.”

Jisung laughs sadly. “Don’t take it too personally, Min,” he says, gently squeezing his hand to comfort him, “I’m not allowed in either. Apparently I’m a bad omen.”

Minho sighs. He knows it’s stupid to feel this way, but he can’t help being upset, nor can Jisung. Dahyun’s always put Chaeyoung first. Jisung could cope with this back when they lived in different kingdoms, but now? Now Chaeyoung is in his kingdom, with his wife, and Jisung feels like an idiot. “Are _you_ okay, Princey?”

Only when Minho asks him that does Jisung realize he’s been staring off into space. He smiles, looking back at Minho and shrugging. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking.” For a moment, they just look at each other. Minho bites his lip and considers saying more, but he knows he can’t force Jisung to talk, and maybe talking would just make everything worse. At least they’re close. Even if he can’t comfort Jisung with words, Minho is content with being able to breathe the same air as him.

“Do you wanna go for a walk or something?” Jisung asks finally, hope in his eyes, and Minho grins. “I’d love to.”

As they advance out from the farthest end of the hall, out from the dark shabby corridor they’d previously been embracing in, Jisung considers holding Minho’s hand for no real reason other than liking how it feels. Minho’s hands are soft from the lack of work he does, and because they’re the same size they fit perfectly together. And when Jisung reaches for his hand, he doesn’t have to worry about Minho thinking he’s some dumb gay loser, because Minho thinks that anyway, and he’s friends with him regardless.

But Minho is a boy. And so is Jisung. And even if they weren’t individually gay men, they’d still be shunned for looking at each other the way they do. Jisung doesn’t even want to think about what would happen to them if they were caught touching each other in any way at all. Jisung looks briefly at Minho, then at the long open pavement leading down the main streets, and he keeps his hands to himself. 

“We should’ve stayed inside,” Minho says, blowing hot air into his hands before rubbing them together. It’s early-december, and the air is bitterly cold all the time. Nuhan looks and feels like a barren wasteland. Jisung sighs. “Mhm, but at least it’s quiet out today.”

“You must really hate crowds,” Minho says. There’s a certain breeze in the air that sends a chill down his spine but at least it isn’t yet snowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean every time you like something, you like it because it’s quiet. Prone to migraines, are we Princey?”

Jisung laughs. “Do I really say it that often?” he asks, and from beside him Minho nods. “Well, you’re not wrong. I’m not really a people person. Funny, isn’t it? I’m the most wanted man alive and no one is good enough for me.”

“What about me?”

Jisung doesn’t laugh at that. There’s a lump in his throat, and he isn’t quite sure how to answer, nor is he sure if Minho was being serious. He hopes it’s a joke, but he sounds so serious, so genuinely concerned over whether or not he could be the type of person that’s good enough for Han Jisung. In what way? He knew what he was implying when he said it, but now he’s uncertain what exactly that implication that was. Jisung isn’t sure of anything. 

He stops moving. They’ve been walking aimlessly for a while now, and Jisung’s starting to miss having a set destination. Though, when he thinks about it, everything in his life has been pre-decided for him, so nothing he says or does could ever really matter. He ponders on that last thought for a moment. Then, he spins on his heel and takes Minho’s hand. There’s no risk if nothing matters.

“Of course,” he answers finally, laughing a little as he continues, swaying their arms together as they walk back to where they came. “You’re the only one who is.”

It was a pointless journey, but it was a break, and that’s all Minho really wanted. That, and it was time alone with Jisung. It was different. “Where were you?” Chaeyoung asks, standing outside the door. She’s so short that her attempts of intimidation immediately fail. “And why’s Jiji here?”

“Jiji..?” Jisung says quietly, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. He’s not really used to being called anything other than ‘Your Highness’ by people he doesn’t know very well, and even though it’s a little weird, he can’t say he actually cares. “Yeah, you. Did no one ever tell you it’s bad luck to-”

“Yes, actually, just earlier today! Although, I think marrying a Han probably sets you up for disaster regardless. Dahyun!” He calls, and from the other side of the door she yells “I’m not letting you curse our marriage!”

“We’re not getting married,” Minho says to Chaeyoung, “so I should be allowed in, right? The best man doesn’t do anything. It’s fine if I see her.” Before Chaeyoung can even try to argue Minho is shoving past her and invading the closet once more. The door shuts before Jisung can look inside, but even through the wood he can hear Minho exclaim a loud “holy shit!”

Jisung pouts. “Chaeyoung, please let me through. I’ll close my eyes if you want me to.”

Chaeyoung hums an angry, pensive note, and for a few seconds she considers locking the door behind her and leaving. But the pleading look on Jisung’s face makes her feel somewhat bad, and she knows Dahyun can never stay angry for longer than a few minutes. So, she steps aside, and Jisung enters to finally lay eyes on his fiancee.

She’s wearing his mom’s dress.

There’s a sweetheart neckline and short, lace sleeves that stop just after her shoulders and hang slightly loose, and a short but ever present train made of the same material. It’s aged but it works. “I hope this is okay,” she says softly, and she sounds nervous. Jisung is dumbstruck. “I know your mom was like… probably the only good person in either of out family trees, so it fucking sucks she’s gone but-even though she’s not here I… I don’t know. If I look awful just tell me.”

Jisung doesn’t respond. The silence brings a frown to Dahyun’s face. No one dares speak until Jisung reacts. Then, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting, Jisung steps forward and wraps his arms around Dahyun in a hug. “Nice speech,” he whispers, resting his chin on her shoulder. She smiles. “You didn’t need to say anything.”

His arms still wrapped around her, Jisung pulls back to see her face and brushes a strand of hair behind Dahyun’s ear. “You look happy. That’s all that matters.”

“Do you like it though?”

Jisung smiles. “Why wouldn’t I? You look beautiful,” he says, and Dahyun rests her head on his chest. “I know,” she mumbles, and from beside them Minho clears his throat. “As his best man-”

“Since when were you Jisung’s best man?” Dahyun asks suddenly, looking up at him. Jisung is just as lost on the answer as she is. She looks at Jisung. “I thought you asked Chan?”

Jisung’s face turns red. Slowly, he nods. “Indeed I did,” he says, “and he said yes.” He turns to look at Minho, who looks like he’s just been shot. “I can have two though, right?”

“I don’t see why not,” Chaeyoung says. Minho and Dahyun both collectively shrug. “Well, in that case, uh, Minho?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Will you be my best man?”

Minho smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time next week i'm posting the last chapter ㅠ^ㅠ it feels so surreal to think that it's actually ending. once again, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed!


	16. SIXTEEN : Let Me Call You Sweetheart, I'm In Love With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read the note at the end of this chapter because i have an important question that i'd really appreciate you answering!!

Minho wants to make one thing perfectly clear: this might be a date.

In theory, it’s quite romantic. And in practice, it would probably be the best date either of them would ever go on, if not for the fact that Jisung simply isn’t here. 

The hall is full to the brim with people all of a higher class than himself, and Minho feels like a fraud. He doesn’t know why he got so excited for this. A stupid ball, held by stupid royals, all to celebrate some stupid marriage that isn’t even happening for another three weeks and in the middle of this stupid ball stands Minho, alone. He feels pretty stupid right now. Stupid, and even more than that, angry.

He’s not angry with Jisung. No, this is exactly the type of behaviour he knew to expect from some stupid pompous liar like Han Fucking Jisung. Minho is angry with himself. He’s angry at himself for trusting Jisung enough to ask him out as anything other than an attempt to publicly humiliate him. Most of all, he’s angry at himself for still wishing Jisung would appear.

Minho can see it so clearly in his mind - the band would halt and a ballad would begin to play. The sea of people would split into pairs for a slow dance, swaying farther to either side of the hall, and from where Minho stands alone they’d carve an open path for the prince to appear at the end of. As Jisung approaches, the entire hall would empty, and Minho swears they’re the only people in the entire world. “You look wonderful,” Jisung would whisper as he pulls Minho’s body against his. 

They would dance freely, like no one could ever punish them for it, and no one could, because this dance is nothing but a fantasy. 

Minho sighs. If Jisung ever does show, Minho knows his entrance would surely be far less grand. That thought is proven correct almost immediately.

After bounding down the stairs and through the wavering crowd at full speed Jisung skids to a halt in front of Minho. He rests his hands on his knees and breathes heavily, desperately attempting to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he pants, and he looks like he’s just run a marathon. Minho tries not to smile. “Minho,” Jisung says, looking up and clapping his sweaty hand down on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, but you know what The King is like. Thank you for coming.”

Jisung’s voice is as soft and genuine as his smile, and Minho hates the sight. Because as soon as Jisung speaks, he forgives him. He can’t stay mad at that stupid face.

“You’re gonna hate me for this,” Jisung starts, “but would you mind waiting just a few minutes more?”

Minho frowns. Before he can even think of a response Jisung is clutching both his hands and stepping closer, a pleading look in his eyes as he speaks once more. “Meet me on the balcony after the speeches. Take your time, I’ll wait up there for you. Please?” he says. Still, Minho is lost on how to respond. 

Of course he wants to spend whatever is left of tonight with Jisung, more than anything, but that same anger from before tells him to ignore that desire just to teach the bastard a lesson. Jisung presses a gentle kiss to Minho’s knuckles before dropping his hands and sprinting back into the night.

A minute or two has passed since Jisung’s left Minho by his lonesome, and despite his logical brain insisting he should patrol the staircase just to make sure Jisung isn’t lying to him, something in Minho's heart tugs at him to stay put. Jisung’s last words are still ringing in his mind. Speeches? Sure, it would make sense for The King to speak, but Minho can’t imagine why there would be more than one speech at one ball.

The music stops. Then, after a moment of silence, a cacophony of applause and yells. Minho turns to face the front of the hall, not noticing the crowd growing behind him.

“Good evening everyone,” a voice says. It booms loudly throughout the hall and silences all chatter. Minho rolls his eyes. He knows that voice as well as everyone else in this palace, for it’s the voice of King Han, the world’s worst father. He silently says a prayer it’ll end swiftly.

“I won't take up too much of your time,” he starts, and Minho scoffs. _You better not_. “I'm sure no one wants to listen to me ramble on, especially considering the great circumstances of tonight. For tonight we're celebrating my son.” Minho looks at Jisung, who smiles nervously as he gives a single wave to the crowd. The occasional cheer, and a few swooning commoners, but no major reaction just yet.

“I couldn't be prouder of him, nor his choice of wife!” For a reason Minho doesn't understand, the crowd all laugh. Jisung and Dahyun laugh too, but it's a different kind of laugh, one of discomfort and compliance. King Han continues.

“It won't be long until he takes my place as King. Three weeks as of today, to be precise. As shocking a change it may be, I know that he'll continue our legacy with pride and strength. And if he doesn't…” Once more, there's laughter, and Minho sees Jisung sway back and forth as he waits for it to pass. “With all that out of the way, I’d like full attention for my son, Jisung to say a few words. May we have some applause for the soon to be King?”

Jisung forces a bright smile at the crowd, nodding at the sea of people as he shakily exhales in preparation for his speech. No one, aside from his fiancé, of course, seems to notice how utterly nervous he is. Nor, how sweaty. 

He’s so, so fucking sweaty.

Jisung scans the crowd desperately for a comforting face, a single person he might recognize, and right when he’s about to give up, he sees him. His expression softens as Minho smiles reassuringly at him, his shoulders relaxing as he waits for silence. It takes a few seconds longer, but eventually, the room is quiet enough for Jisung to speak.

“Thank you, everyone. I’m sure anything interesting has already been said by my father, so I’ll try not to repeat too much. As I’m sure you all know, my name is Jisung. I’m King Han’s son,” he looks over to Dahyun and reaches for her hand, which she places gently in his. All affection is choreographed to perfection. “-and soon enough, myself and Dahyun here are to be wed. This will make me king.”

The crowd erupts in cheers, and the corners of Jisung's mouth twitch. Dahyun nods towards the adoring kingdom. Minho bites his lip. 

“I plan on doing everything in my power to make this kingdom the greatest it can be. I won't bore you with my politics, as all that will come soon enough, but just know that things _will_ be changing. Not in favour of my own family, but the people who have allowed us to hold our position. I hope to do well by all, for I feel that nothing worth standing for should be stood for alone.” 

Hushed whispers brush through the crowd as Jisung pauses, his expression somewhat grim. He closes his eyes before looking to Minho, who smiles softly at him and mouths something akin to “I’m out of glue.” He doesn't question it.

“With all that said, I would just like to conclude by asking that you continue to enjoy the ball and look forward to my reign knowing that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Thank you all.” 

A final cheer is had, and rather than being followed by silence, the crowd instead breaks off into groups once more, crowding the floor as Jisung walks off. Minho blinks, and as soon as he opens his eyes Jisung seems to have left the floor, nowhere to be seen. Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake, Minho thinks, groaning as he shuffles in between separate crowds of people and frantically looks to the stairs leading up to the balcony. Minho can't fathom the idea that Jisung has already ascended upwards for him but _maybe,_ just maybe it's worth checking?

Fuck it. No one will miss me downstairs anyway, Minho thinks, his hands shaking as he makes his way up.

Just as Minho's sure he stood prior to his speech, Jisung is staring out at the night sky, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. He looks so calm, so beautifully painted by the moonlight. “Beautiful tonight, isn't it?” Jisung asks, tilting his head towards Minho. Minho nods. 

“There’s a nice view up here,” he says, staring at Jisung, whose gaze is still fixated on the sky above them. “Not as nice as on the mountain, though.”

“I was talking about you,” Minho says quietly, and Jisung’s ears turn red, his eyes widening as he pushes himself back from the half wall and attempts to process the compliment. “Oh, wow, um, thanks, uh-”

Jisung’s nervous stuttering is cut short by the sound of Minho’s gentle laughter and the feeling of him resting a hand on his shoulder. “That was smooth, Minho. I wish I had lines like that.”

“Oh, speaking of lines,” Minho starts, “that speech sounded pretty good. Who wrote it?”

Jisung laughs heartily. “Was it that obvious I didn’t mean a word I said?” he asks, and Minho nods. “Everyone else believed it. Personally, though, I think it sounds like the combined effort of Dahyun and… no, actually, just Dahyun. Those were her policies in a nutshell. You didn’t even paraphrase it, Princey.”

“Do you ever plan on not calling me that?” Jisung asks. Minho tilts his head in confusion. “Just in case you forgot, my name is Jisung. Feel free to use it at any time.”

Minho isn’t entirely sure why, but for some reason he’s blushing, and presumably for the exact same reason he’s now too embarrassed to maintain eye contact. “I know your name,” he mumbles, and Jisung gasps in faux surprise. Minho giggles as he moves to punch him in the arm. “Shut up.”

A comfortable silence falls over them as a breeze blows past them and makes Minho shiver. Beneath them all sound is muffled, but the keys of a piano resonance clearly through the night as a ballad begins to play.

“Again, thank you for coming up here. I know I’ve been an awful date thus far, but it means a lot to me,” he says, taking Minho’s hand. “I wish I could’ve asked you this before, but there are way too many people down there, and I didn’t want to put either of us in a compromising position.”

Jisung takes a deep breath. Intrigued (and perhaps a bit afraid) Minho takes a small step closer. When Jisung locks eyes with Minho again he’s within a few inches of his face, and he can’t help but smile. “Minho?” he says, voice just louder than a whisper.

“Yes, Jisung?”

“May I have this dance?”

A smile creeps into Minho’s cheeks as he nods, his heart pounding when Jisung laces their fingers together and moves his other hand to rest on his waist. “Why am I the woman?” Minho asks, giggling as their slow waltz commences. Jisung shrugs. “Your hand was already on my shoulder, and normally when I have to dance at these things it’s with actual women, so I guess it just makes more sense. Is that a problem, you damn misogynist?”

Minho laughs, shaking his head. “I was just wondering,” he says, and for a while neither speak. They’re just happy to be near each other. The song playing beneath them is beautiful, and maybe it’s just a side effect of being under the moon for too long, but Minho thinks Jisung is even more so.

“I’m not very good at this,” Minho says under his breath, and Jisung giggles. “I noticed.”

“Be nice,” he says, his cheeks now tinged pink, and in spite of himself Minho moves his hand from Jisung’s shoulder down lower onto his back. Jisung takes this as a chance to move in closer and press their bodies together. “No one’s ever asked me to dance before.”

“I’m honored to be the first,” he says softly. “This is really nice. Thank you,” he says, and Minho smiles, pressing his forehead against Jisung’s shoulder for a moment before looking up at him. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. I might suck at this, but I’m still having a good time. Thank _you_ , Jisung.”

“Say that again?” Jisung asks, and Minho scoffs. “Get fucked, Princey. If I say too many nice things at one time the earth might explode.”

Jisung giggles. “You’re a softie, Minho. I see right through you.”

“And you, Han Jisung, are a nightmare,” he says. Jisung can't help but grin. His name has never been much more than a word to him. He recognizes it, he responds to it, but prior to tonight, he’d never truly cared for it. But if Minho saying his name was the only sound he could ever hear again, he truly would be content. Minho nuzzles his head into the crook of Jisung’s shoulder and Jisung wraps his arm further around his waist. Then, as another cool breeze hits them, Minho speaks in a hushed voice - “I like you so much.”

Jisung thinks that if the earth doesn’t explode, he will.

“Oh, that’s…” he starts, but Jisung can’t think of anything to say. “Gay. Forgot I said that,” Minho says, and something in Jisung clicks. “You didn’t forget, did you?” he asks, and Minho is confused. He lifts his head to look at Jisung and for the first time since that piano ballad begin, they stop swaying. There’s a strange, almost triumphant smile on Jisung’s face. “That night you were really drunk? And technically said you wanted to kiss me? You weren’t actually that drunk, were you?”

Minho’s once pink cheeks are now red. He laughs nervously, looking down, and tries to think of an excuse. Jisung laughs. “Holy shit.”

“Congrats, you figured out I like you. All it took was me literally telling you,” Minho says, rolling his eyes, and he sounds somewhat defeated. Jisung, however, has never been so elated in his life. He lets go of Minho’s hand to wrap his other arm around Minho’s waist, holding him tightly. Minho’s eyes widen. “This is awful,” he laughs, and Minho hums in confusion.

“I’m getting married soon. I know it’s not real, but in the eyes of literally everyone else alive, it is. Min, you deserve way better than some stupid prince who can’t even write his own speeches. You deserve the world. I wish I could give you that, but I don’t know if I can,” Jisung says, and while part of him is happy, another part of him wishes Minho still hated his guts. That was so much easier.

“But I _want_ a stupid prince who can’t even write his own speeches!” Minho says suddenly, his voice louder and somewhat pleading. “And I don’t think he’s stupid, I think he’s fucking incredible. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this but I-I think I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone else in my life. That’s really fucking scary, Jisung. I don’t know why it had to be you, of all people, but I can’t imagine feeling like this about anyone else. I fucking hate your tie.”

“What’s wrong with my tie?” Jisung asks, slightly distraught, and Minho laughs. “Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you knew it was still me.”

Jisung laughs. He wants to be mad, to feel anything other than complete joy at Minho’s confession, but he can’t.

He looks at Minho, at the stars in his eyes, at his perfect smile, and Jisung still can’t believe they actually feel the same way about each other. “Don’t just look at me,” Minho says, placing a hand on the crook of his neck. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Jisung smiles. And finally, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting, it happens. They kiss. Minho can feel Jisung smiling against his lips and even though they’re both trying their absolute hardest not to, neither can help but giggle a little. “Shut up,” Minho says quietly, running a hand through Jisung’s hair, and Jisung does just that. He focuses on the feeling of Minho’s touch and soon enough he’s lost in it.

Minho feels like home. Not like the palace, not like this town, but an actual, honest to God home. He’s a warm fireplace after a snowstorm and the framed picture above the mantelpiece. He’s the first rain in weeks, the feeling of that light shower on your skin that makes you feel human after a heatwave. As far as Jisung is concerned, Minho is everything good in this world, and Minho’s finally okay with admitting that Jisung is the same for him.

Jisung isn’t afraid to ruin the moment. No matter what happens next, nothing could ever ruin this.

“Holy shit,” he whispers once they finally part, and Minho laughs. “That bad, huh?”

“No! Not at all, Jesus,” Jisung says, and he can’t wipe the smile from his face. He quickly places a kiss on the tip of Minho’s nose before speaking. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

“Not directly, but you mentioned it to Dahyun once and she relayed it back to me, so that kinda counts. I always thought she was making it up,” he says, laughing at the look of sheer dismay on Jisung’s face. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

“I’m gonna kill her,” he says, shaking his head, and Minho runs his fingers comfortingly through Jisung’s hair. “Sure you are. Can we raincheck the murder, though? I’m still kinda high off whatever the fuck this is.”

Jisung giggles. “Me too. Oh, um, quick question,” he starts, then clears his throat. His arms are still wrapped around Minho’s waist and the fact they just kissed should probably make the answer obvious enough, but Jisung knows it’s rude to assume things, and it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

“Are we… Uh… Y’know… Boyfriends? Dumb question, I know, but I want to make sure before I-”

Minho cuts Jisung off by leaning in to kiss him once more. It takes a moment for Jisung to reciprocate, but when he does it feels like he’s been doing this all his life. “That’s a yes, right?” he mumbles, and Minho rests his forehead against Jisung’s and smiles.

“Yes, Jisung. That’s a yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they finally kissed!! aren't things so nice for our beloved bfs currently? hehe. haha. ANYWAYS the question that i wanted to ask is!!!! should i wait a week and post chapter 17 and 18 together the friday after this one??? or should i post 17 on fruday and 18 on sunday like usual. both are finished but i'd feel a little bit cruel about posting them separate from each other. idk. let me know! also i hope you enjoyed!!!!!!! thank you so much for reading!!!!!!! i can't believe its coming to an end holy hell. i'll see u soon dear friends :D


	17. SEVENTEEN : As William Shakespeare Once Said, "Fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for BRIEF mentions of conversion therapy and vomit

Remember when Jisung thought nothing could ruin this moment?

Yeah. He clearly didn’t account for the fact that several things could ruin this moment, such as The King deciding that tonight, out of all nights, is the perfect night to stargaze.

Jisung isn’t entirely sure how to react when, seemingly out of nowhere, Minho shoves him away. “Minho?” he asks, his voice pitched up, and Minho doesn’t say a word. The look of desperation and fear in his eyes says enough. Jisung is almost too busy examining Minho’s sudden change in mood to notice the tall figure standing where the top of the stairway ends. For a second, Jisung doesn’t think it’s real. Then, The King steps forwards, towards Minho, and he realizes he couldn’t dream something like this. His heart sinks.

“What the fuck were you doing with my son?” He asks, his voice hushed, and Minho doesn’t answer. Whether he’s silent out of fear or defiance no one really knows, but one thing is certain - he’s not answering a single question The King plans on asking him.

Jisung wants to say something. Really, he does, but he can’t. His heart is racing and there’s a lump in his throat, and nowhere what happens next Jisung is sure he’ll die.

“Answer me,” The King says, stepping closer, but his demand is to no avail. He looks down and Minho and sees no terror in his eyes. His stare is blank and more than anything else, he looks bored. It’s infuriating. King Han is fucking infuriated. He lifts his cold hands and moves to grip Minho’s throat. Minho, who's now struggling to breathe, shuts his eyes. “Listen here, you-”

Then, Jisung does something he never thought he’d have the balls to do, and he pushes King Han.

It’s a pretty mediocre shove. Jisung isn't much stronger than he looks, and even though his father is still endlessly more powerful than he is, the movement is sudden and unexpected enough to send him back a few feet and away from Minho long enough for Jisung to stand as a shield in front of him. 

“Jisung,” The King starts, and he looks betrayed. He also looks ready to murder his own son. “What the hell has gotten into you? Attacking your own father, all to protect some pansy?”

“If you even  _ think  _ about touching him again I’ll throw you down those goddamn stairs. Do you understand that?” He asks, and The King is dumbfounded. Minho is, too. He’s seen Jisung angry once before, but that was misdirected, and he immediately apologized for that anger as soon as Minho saw him. But this?

It's kinda hot. Minho can hardly believe how confident Jisung is, especially considering the circumstances.

Suddenly calm, King Han steps towards his son and rests a hand on his shoulder. The look of disappointment on his face fills Jisung with a type of anger he’s never felt before. “I thought we put this to rest years ago, son. Such a shame,” he sighs, and Jisung can hardly resist the urge to attack him. “You should know better than to throw your future away like this.”

“Go on, then. Try to convert me. You saw how well it worked last time, didn’t you?” he says, and from behind him Minho eyes are narrowing in confused concentration. “You’re all the same. Every last one of you, you’re cowards. You’re so fucking afraid of letting anyone exist in a way that doesn’t adhere to you that you try to kill your kids just for wanting to fuck a knight.”

The King sighs. “You’re not still on that, are you? We were just doing what was best for you. Maybe if you weren't so selfish you would understand that-”

“What's my favourite colour, dad?”

Silence. Jisung knows the answer to the question, as does Minho, but The King can't seem to respond. He swears someone told him before. Regardless, he knows that no matter what he says it’ll be wrong.

Again, louder this time, “what's my favourite colour, dad?”

“I don't have time for this bullshit,” The King says, attempting to lightly shove Jisung out of the way, but Jisung stays firmly put. “Jisung, enough. You've made your point. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

Jisung does try to stay put, but as previously stated, The King is a lot stronger than he is. He grabs hold of Jisung’s chin and twists it, discarding him off to the side and sending him down. His entire body hurts as he hits the ground. Jisung, who's now sprawled out on the cold floor and clutching his aching jaw, can only watch as King Han grabs Minho’s forearm and yanks him away.

“Get off of me!” Minho yells, attempting to pry The King’s hand open, but to no avail. He tightens his grip, and Minho winces in pain. Jisung tries to stand but can't. They're halfway down the stairs, and The King's now holding him at arm's length in front of him. Trying to get him back is pointless.

Everything Jisung's ever done is just pointless.

He's had this nightmare before. About a king, a wendigo, it doesn’t really matter. The point is that it was just a nightmare. A terrifying, awful nightmare, but one he could always wake up from. Jisung punches himself as hard as he can, but he doesn’t wake up. And that wendigo is among him for the first time in months, with arms strong and icy, and Jisung starts to think that maybe, by some mercy of whatever God may have tortured him up until this point, he’s already dead.

But he isn’t. Jisung, circa this exact moment, is very much alive, and very much wishing he wasn't.

Still tremendously sore from the impact of hitting the ground, Jisung scrambles to his feet and rushes down the stairs, gripping the railing tight to ensure he doesn't fall down. “Minho!” He calls, stumbling as he reaches the floor. It’s as crowded as ever. Jisung can see a thousand distinct faces, and hear a hundred staccato voices, and not a single figure in this crowd matters to him. All that matters to him is finding Minho, which seems to be the one thing he can’t do. Jisung breathes quickly and heavily through his nose as he spots the King moving further from him and advancing towards the quieter parts of the palace, and doesn’t bother to excuse himself as he pushes through the barrage of guests.

“Minho,” he calls again, panting, and from a few feet ahead he hears a muffled response. Minho bites at the hand covering his mouth and tries to yell. A pair of burly knights stand at either side of him, hauling him away, neither paying attention to his desperate flailing. Jisung rushes forwards and claps a hand down on one of the knight’s shoulders, prompting him to stop, still holding Minho off the ground. Jisung’s heart is pounding. The knight turns to him, and Jisung’s heart sinks. 

It’s Chan.

“Let him go this instant,” Jisung orders, his voice stern, and Chan looks at him pleadingly. He never thought he would give orders to anyone, let alone Chan, but he also never thought he’d watch his boyfriend be treated like a disobedient child. Especially not by one of his oldest friends. Chan and the other night both look at him pleadingly, then, they look to The King.

He shakes his head and the knights shamefully turn their backs to Jisung and continue their trek through the palace.

“Did you not hear me?” He asks, patting Chan’s back harshly. “I said let him go! Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“I’m sorry, Sung,” Chan says quietly, and Jisung tries to shove him. Chan doesn’t move. He’s been a knight for years, and has dealt with these situations hundreds of times, but they’ve never felt so cruel. Chan can’t see his face, but he knows by the crack in his voice and the way he’s now frantically pounding his fists against his back that Jisung is crying. “I can’t disobey direct orders. You know I don't wanna do this.”

“So don't,” Jisung begs, and Chan swallows hard. They've finished descending the stairs down to the cellar, and even though he knows it’s futile, Minho is still trying to free himself. Then, they let go of him. He drops to the floor with a loud thud, his ankle twisting as he does, and Jisung squeezes between the knights to kneel on the floor by Minho. There are tears in his eyes as he cups Minho’s cheeks. “I’m fine,” Minho whispers. He tries to push himself back up but immediately falls back onto the ground, wincing in pain as he does.

“You’re gonna be okay, Min,” Jisung says, caressing his cheek, and Minho smiles sadly at him as the door to the cellar opens behind him. They both know what’s coming next. They both know Jisung is lying. But maybe, if he believes in his words enough, they'll become true, and Minho won’t be locked away to die alone in a wine cellar.

But maybe not.

Once again Minho is hoisted off the ground by his arms, but this time, he doesn’t have the energy to fight. The knights hold him upright in the doorframe and don’t say a word. Jisung grabs Minho’s hands and lets out a sob, then looks at Chan. Chan doesn’t look at him. He instead looks at The King, who nods impatiently for him to chuck Minho into the cellar. “You can’t do this. Please, Chan, don’t do this,” he begs, and Chan closes his eyes. It’s all too much.

The King wraps his arms around Jisung’s waist and pulls him back as the second knight rips their hands apart. Jisung reaches forward but to no avail, because in an instant Minho is gone, hidden inside the confines of a cellar that locks from the outside. “Minho!” he yells, and his father’s arms tighten around his waist, knocking the air from his stomach. He’s dizzy and confused and even though Jisung knows it won’t fix any of this, he can’t help wanting to scream.  So he does.

He hears Minho bang on the other side of the door, calling to be let out, and Jisung howls. He squirms desperately in The King’s grasp, almost managing to free himself, but Chan steps in front of the door and ensures Jisung won't be able to pass. “Bastard!” Jisung yells, spitting in Chan’s face. Chan flinches. He touches his cheek and wipes the saliva off, his face contorting in a mix of guilt and disgust as he finally looks at Jisung. He looks awful.

His face is stained with tears and his eyes are puffy, his lips swollen and his entire face red. Jisung couldn’t care less about how bad he looks. All he cares about right now is Minho, the one person he just can’t seem to reach. 

Behind the locked door, Minho is biting back tears. He knows Jisung can’t see him. God, he knows Jisung can’t see him, maybe he can’t even hear him but he still tries to talk to him, just in case. “I’ll be alright, Princey, okay?” he yells through the door, trying his hardest to sound strong, and Jisung wails in response. “I’ll be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says, his voice cracking, and finally, Minho breaks. He covers his mouth and lets out a sob, careful that Jisung won’t hear him. One of them has to stay strong. Ideally it would be the one that isn’t trapped, but Minho can’t put that burden on Jisung’s shoulders.

Because really, Jisung’s been strong this entire time.

Minho swallows his weeping and calls out Jisung’s name for what feels like the hundredth time. He calls back, but it’s muffled, more distant. Minho slides his back against the wall and chokes. “Jisung!” he calls again, and this time he can barely hear Jisung’s voice. It’s raspy and exhausted, his throat torn, and Minho can’t stand hearing how much pain he’s in. All he wants to do is hold him. But he can’t.

Once more, “Jisung!”

At the top of the stairs, a hand rests atop Jisung’s mouth. “One more word and your boyfriend stays in that cellar for good. We’re going back to the ball, okay buddy? You’re gonna wipe your eyes, and you’re gonna tell everyone about how you’re just so excited for the wedding that you and Dahyun have decided to move it forward. Got that?”

Jisung can’t breathe. He tries to hear Dahyun’s voice in his mind, guiding him on how to inhale, but he can’t. He feels like he’s suffocating. The King squeezes Jisung’s stomach to prompt a response, and Jisung makes a feeble whining sound. Then, he nods, his glossy eyes shutting tightly as his stomach tenses. The King drops him immediately to let him vomit.

Jisung stumbles and falls to his knees, resting his hand against the wall as a tremendous amount of bile retches out from his throat and down onto the stairs. Chan ascends the stairs cautiously to stand by his side and rest a hand on his shoulder. If Jisung had any energy left he’d shrug Chan off of him, he’d scream at him never to touch him again, he’d curse Chan for daring to even look at him. But he doesn’t.

Jisung wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

There’s nothing left in him. He doesn’t bother fighting when Chan kneels down to pick him up and carry him bridal style back up through the palace, he just lets it happen. “Make the speech yourself,” Chan tells The King in a low voice, staring straight ahead. “I’ll bring Jisung up to his room. He’s not fit to go back in there. Be rational, sir. Don’t make things worse,” he says, and with that he’s back upstairs, holding Jisung close to his chest, sliding along the walls as casually and carefully as possible.

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” Chan says quietly as he sets Jisung down on his bed, finally away from the rest of the world. “It’ll be okay. I won’t let anything bad happen, not to you or Minho, okay?”

“Fuck you,” Jisungs says, coldly and confidently, attempting to spit in Chan’s face once more. It doesn’t travel as far as he’d like and instead hits his arm. “Don’t fucking call me that. You’re not my friend, Chan,” he says, and his anger is the only thing keeping him awake.

“You don’t mean that,” Chan says, his eyebrows furrowing, and Jisung looks down. “How would you know?”

“Jisung, I promise you, I’m gonna let anyone hurt y-”

“You’re hurting me!” Jisung says loudly, slamming his fists against the bed, and he curses his eyes for wanting to cry. “You’re doing it again. Treating me like a child. You don’t get to make decisions for me! No one does! I’m so fucking sick of this, I’m sick of everyone acting like I’m incompetent, because I’m not!”

Chan doesn't speak. He knows Jisung isn’t finished, and to cut him off now would feel like a crime. “I never got a chance to be normal. You were my first love, y’know,” he says, laughing sadly, “and I never got to tell you that. No, my dad got to tell you that, and I got to go to extensive reversal therapy for a year. A year of my life, Chan, that’s something I don't get back.”

“I’m s-”

“I really thought this was different. Maybe it’s my fault for thinking anything could ever go well in my life, but could you blame me?” He asks, and Chan looks confused. Jisung stares at his shoes. “Minho. I love him.” His voice is barely above a whisper, and as Chan moves to pat his shoulder, Jisung collapses into his chest. Chan frowns and holds him tight.

“I love him so much,” he sobs, “and I have no idea what happens next. What if something happens to me? What if he gets hurt, because of me? What if I never see him again?” he asks, his speech muffled against the fabric of Chan’s suit, and Chan isn’t sure how to answer. He can’t tell him everything will be alright, because realistically, it won’t be. And even if Jisung believes it would be, Chan just can’t bring himself to lie. He pats Jisung’s back and sighs.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Chan asks finally, and Jisung sniffles. “Can-can you leave?” He asks, his voice small, and Chan is confused. He knows Jisung is angry at him, but he also knows there’s nothing he could possibly need less than to be alone. That’s what he thinks, anyway, but as Jisung sits up to look him in the eyes, Chan isn’t sure. “Please. I just want you to make sure Dahyun is okay, and leave me alone.”

Chan nods. He lets his arms snake off of Jisung’s back and return to his sides as he stands to exit, and Jisung doesn’t look at him. “I’m gonna have to keep you under surveillance,” Chan says after a moment, and Jisung bites his lip, clenching his fists. “Just until the wedding. I’m sorry, Ji-”

“I said go!” He yells, staring straight down, and Chan breathes heavily. Then, he leaves. Jisung waits to hear the door click shut before finally exhaling. He falls back against his bed and stares up at the dimly lit ceiling, trying hard to block out the sounds of music and chatter down below.

In spite of it all, Jisung smiles, because for the first time in his life he knows what he wants. And it’s not this.

What Jisung wants is simple - he wants to be free. He wants to be called his name, not his title, he wants to cook and clean for himself, he wants never to hear his father’s voice again. He wants no one to try and protect him ever again. Because, circa this exact moment, Jisung is awake, staring at a wendigo, shoveling black tar into its mouth and praying it burns from the inside out. It’s the same battle he’s been losing for years, but this time feels different. This time, Jisung doesn’t want to lose.

He wants to win. Jisung wants, no, he  _ needs  _ to win, and if winning means escaping from the kingdom he’s supposed to rule in the middle of the night with only his wife and boyfriend by his side?

Then that’s exactly what he plans on doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter left........ AAAAA. as always, thank u for reading, and i hope u enjoyed!


	18. EIGHTEEN : Romeo And Cinderella

Jisung doesn’t mind being awake at night, because it’s the only time this palace is ever truly quiet. He’s always liked the quiet. Tonight especially is a night where he’s thankful for it, because depending on whether or not he’s able to successfully execute his plan, it might be the last quiet night of his life.

It may be the last night of his life.

It’s a scary thought, but Jisung would be lying if he said it didn’t excite him. Not the idea of whatever consequences he might face if he’s caught, no, those are nothing but horrifying; Jisung is excited by what life might be like if not. If he’s not saying his vows come tomorrow morning, then maybe he’ll be somewhere nicer. Maybe not. Honestly, Jisung doesn’t care where he ends up - as long as Minho is by his side.

Jisung sits up in bed and smiles to himself. He has no idea if his plan will work or not, but the thought of seeing Minho again is enough to make him risk it.

In the two days that have passed since his boyfriend was forcibly separated from him and thrown into a cellar against his wall, Jisung’s had a lot of time to think. He hasn’t really been able to do much else. Unlike Minho, Jisung is allowed to leave his room, but not without supervision. Chan is constantly waiting by the door, always watching him. It’s awful, but, in a way it’s still better than what Minho’s going through. Jisung feels sick even thinking about it.

_Not for much longer,_ he reminds himself, reaching down to pull his duffle bag up next to him. He's had this bag packed for years. A change of clothes, a first aid kit, non perishable food, a flashlight, and a drawing of him and Dahyun that she drew when they were younger. He smiles sadly looking at it. In a far part of his mind, Jisung always knew he would have to leave. He never knew exactly when that day would come, but he had a feeling it would be sudden, and that he wouldn’t have time to pack. 

Thus, immediately after his father informed him he’d be doing some extensive therapy, fifteen year old Jisung prepared this duffle bag.

“Come on,” Jisung mumbles, rummaging through the contents of the bag. He pokes his cheek with his tongue and furrows his eyebrows as he feels around the bottom. Then, he finds what he was looking for, and lets out a sigh of relief.

$175. 

He counts the wad of cash and, sure enough, it’s all there. He’s been accumulating it since puberty, taking small amounts at a time. It was never enough for his father to notice it had gone missing, but it added up, and even though Jisung could easily take more now, he feels content in having over $100 to his name. Wherever he goes, this’ll be helpful. He stuffs it back into the bag and hides it underneath a pair of socks. Then, he grabs the stuffed bunny by his pillow. He stares at it indecisively for a few moments.

Jisung isn’t sure he wants to be reminded of this bed ever again. It’s sentimental, sure, but it’s tattered and tear stained and Jisung thinks that maybe the best thing he can do for his old friend is simply throw it away.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says outloud, albeit very quietly, pushing the bunny into the bag then pulling at the drawstring to close it. “Not yet.”

Jisung pushes himself off his bed quietly and stands on his toes, slowly slinging the bag over his shoulder. He breathes in through his mouth, out through his nose, and begins creeping towards the door. He knows it’s locked. At the same time, he knows Chan is on the other side, and he knows Chan would do just about anything for him right now. Even though it’s not entirely his fault, he feels so guilty about all of this.

Jisung gently raps on the door with his knuckles. “Chan?” he asks, his voice raspy and strained. Jisung hates to exploit his friend’s empathy, but right now, he doesn’t have many other options. Chan won’t open the door unless he thinks it’s an emergency. He sniffles for added effect. In a moment the door is open and Chan is inside, flicking on the light and looking up at him. His face contorts in confusion when he notices how calm he looks.

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing at the bag slung over Jisung’s shoulder. “Nothing,” he says quickly. Then, “I’m leaving. I don’t wanna be King.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “You know that already, don’t you?”

Chan smiles at him. “I always did. Ji, it’s not gonna be that easy,” Chan says, his smile falling as he rests a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, and Jisung nods. “I mean, where are you gonna go? Do you have a plan? People will notice you’re gone, and depending on where you go, they might find-”

“I know. That’s why I need you to help me. You’re not friends with the guards outside the palace right now, aren you?” he asks, and Chan shrugs. “I don’t know who's on, but I probably am. Why? You don’t want me to hurt anyone, do you?”

Jisung frowns. “Maybe. Ideally you won’t, but if it comes to that, I need to know you’ve got my back. Please, Chan. I’ll take care of everything else, but I can’t do this on my own. Can you just clear a path for me when I need you to?”

Chan bites his lip. Then, he nods. “Of course,” he says, and Jisung moves in to hug him. The embrace is short, but both of them feel satisfied in knowing they don’t hate each other. “Thank you,” Jisung whispers, then pulls back to look at him. He’s grinning, and even though Chan wants to cry at the thought of Jisung leaving, he knows it’s best. “No problem. What should I do now?”

“Just wait here,” Jisung says, advancing into the doorframe. His voice is strong but quiet. “I need to go take care of some things first. Give me about… Fifteen minutes? Then, go distract the guards. Minho and I’ll figure it out from there.”

“This doesn’t sound like much of a plan,” Chan says, worry evident in his tone, and Jisung smiles. “I know. But I think I need to learn how to be impulsive if I ever want to live a normal life. Take risks, and all that stuff. I don’t know,” he admits, and Chan laughs a little. “Sounds good.”

“Chan?” Jisung asks suddenly, and Chan nods. “If I don’t see you again, I just want to say-”

“Don’t finish that,” Chan interrupts, and Jisung looks slightly confused. “You _will_ see me again, okay? So, whatever you wanna say, it can wait. Go on,” he says, nodding towards the hallway behind him. “Go get your boy.”

Jisung smiles. “Will do.”

His footsteps are silent, and the only sound resonating through an empty hallway is that of Jisung’s own heartbeat. Jisung feels like he could die at any moment, but at the same time, he feels so incredibly alive. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and he might never feel it again; so as Jisung begins creeping down the stairs, carefully and precisely, he’s sure to cherish it.

After living in this place for twenty years, Jisung’s learned all its secrets. He knows where it creaks and where it doesn’t. He knows which areas you can stand in without being seen, he knows the shortest and longest routes to every room, and he knows exactly which floorboards to avoid. Heading to the cellar is dangerous. It’s the least maintained area of the palace, and there’s a distinct echo of footsteps that rings throughout the lower part of the building if you aren’t careful with where you walk. 

Jisung hasn’t been down here often enough to be entirely certain, but he knows that as long as he keeps to the wall, he’ll stay undetected. 

“Minho,” Jisung says softly as he reaches the door, barely loud enough to be heard from the other side of the door. His fingers wrap around the handle, hands shaky as he hesitates, and Jisung sighs deeply. Then, he opens the door. “Minho?” he calls again, slightly louder, and at the bottom of the half stairs leading into the cellar he sees him, shivering and exhausted but still smiling. “Jisung,” Minho says, a little louder than intended, and before Jisung has time to lovingly shush him Minho is scrambling to his feet to hug him.

“I missed you, Princey,” he whispers as they embrace, gently swaying from side to side in the doorway. Jisung pulls back to look at him. There are tears in his eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t slept longer than an hour in almost three days, but he’s still grinning. 

In spite of it all, Minho looks happy.

“Did you know there are rats down here?” he asks, laughing through a sob, and Jisung can feel his eyes watering as he shakes his head. “Massive rats, Sung, the size of my hand-”

“Shut up,” Jisung says fondly, wiping the tears from underneath his eyes with his thumb. Minho leans his cheek on Jisung’s hand. “I missed you too. So much, Minho,” he says, his voice cracking as he blinks back tears, and Minho giggles. “You’ll be a terrible king. You’re far too sweet,” he says, and Jisung giggles. “It’s a good thing I’m not gonna be king then, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’re leaving. I’m leaving. I don’t know where, I have no plan, I’m probably gonna die on day two but I don’t care. It’ll be worth it. I want you to come with me,” he says, taking both Minho’s hands in his own and squeezing them. “I mean, we’re both fucked if we stay here, and I know I don’t want that. And I don’t think you do, either. So, please…” he pauses, looking down for a moment. 

“Leave with me.”

“Of course I’m leaving with you,” he says, and even though Jisung hoped that would be his answer, he still sighs in relief to know he was right. Again they hug, and Minho presses a gentle kiss against Jisung’s shoulder. “My Romeo,” he says softly, almost teasingly, and Jisung giggles. “Don’t call me that,” he whispers, running a hand through Minho’s hair. “I don’t want an unhappy ending.”

“And you won’t get one,” Minho says, lifting his head to look Jisung in the eyes again. “We’ll be alright. Should we get going?” He asks and Jisung nods. “Yeah, I still need to go get Dahyun. I haven’t told her about any of this.”

Minho frowns. “Are you sure she’ll come with us?”

“Honestly? No,” he starts, sighing. “But it’s worth asking. And I can’t just go without… saying goodbye. Fuck, this is actually happening, isn’t it? We’re… leaving. Holy shit.”

“You sound like you might change your mind,” Minho says, and Jisung quickly shakes his head. “Never. How’s your foot? It looked kinda bad last time I saw you,” he says, and Minho scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sore. It’ll be fine, I’m sure I can walk on it, it’s just gonna hurt a bit.”

Jisung sighs. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carry you. But we’ll go slowly, okay? Follow me,” he says, adjusting the bag over his shoulder assuming position against the wall. He stretches out his hand and Minho takes it. They glide along the wall and up the stairs in silence, neither daring to speak as they finally ascend onto the ground floor of the palace once more. “You alright?” Jisung whispers once they’ve reached the top, and Minho nods. Now that they aren’t stuck in one pattern of movement, Jisung is able to wrap his arm around Minho’s waist to support him as they continue their trek.

“Jisung,” Minho starts as they begin climbing the stairs towards Dahyun’s room, his voice small and quiet. “When I was trapped in that cellar, I was… really fucking scared. Not just because I thought I was gonna die, but because I thought I was never gonna see you again. And I, uh, I guess it made me realize how much you mean to me,” he says. He sounds so nervous, it makes Jisung worry. “I know it’s still really early, and, uh, it’s totally fine if you aren’t there yet, but I love you.”

Silence.

And again, all Jisung can hear in an otherwise empty hall is the sound of his own heartbeat. They’re outside Dahyun’s room now. Not yet ready to acknowledge Minho’s confession, Jisung cracks open the door and slips inside, pulling Minho in with him before shutting it again.

“Dahyun,” Jisung says, and she grumbles something, turning over in bed. She’s clearly half asleep. “Dahyun,” he says again, louder, and she rolls onto her back. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, Dahyun sits up, yawning as she does. “Jisung, Minho,” she says casually, nodding at them. Then, it hits her. She turns on her bedside lamp and stares at them in wide-eyed shock. “Holy fuck. What are you guys doing here?”

She sounds surprised, but happy, and as soon as she’s awake enough to comprehend exactly who she’s looking at she pulls both of them into a hug. “We needed to come see you,” Jisung says, drawing back after a few seconds and sitting next to her on the bed. Minho stays in the hug for a moment longer. “I... I’m not gonna marry you. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I don’t wanna be King. I don’t wanna pretend to be in love with you for the rest of my life. You’re my best friend, Dahyun, and I can’t marry you. So, I’m leaving. Tonight.”

Dahyun leans forward to ruffle his hair, smiling sadly at him. “I hoped you would.”

“Does that mean you’re coming with us?” Jisung asks, and Dahyun’s lips twitch. She’s still smiling, but it’s strained, and Jisung can feel his heart breaking as she solemnly shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I mean, I have a reason to stay here. You know my opinion on how fucking stupid monarchy is, but if I stay here, I can fix it somehow. That speech I wrote you for the ball the other night? I meant every word of it. I want to change things. I know it won’t be easy, but I have to try.”

“Dahyun…” Jisung says, his voice cracking. “Do you really think that's gonna work?”

She laughs, then, “not at all. But I still want to try. Fuck, I have to try.”

He should’ve known. Dahyun’s always been so strong, so determined, so fucking stubborn that Jisung should’ve known she wouldn’t want to run away with him.

Part of him always knew.

In spite of that, he still hoped. He always hoped that if he were someday to leave, with his duffle bag full of supplies and heart full of promise, his best friend would come with him. But that’s not what she wants. And for the first time in his life, Jisung understands the power of wanting something, and he understands just how cruel it would be to take away her dream. He clears his throat harshly to choke back a sob. “So this is goodbye?”

“Don’t say that,” Dahyun says, cupping Jisung’s cheeks in her hands. “It’s never goodbye. I’ll see you again, okay? Write to me. Wherever you go, send me a letter, let me know you’re okay. I know it’s too dangerous to tell me you’re going, but I’ll find out somehow. I promise.”

“I don’t wanna leave you,” Jisung manages, his vision blurry with tears. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she says quietly, pulling him into a hug. Minho watches from beside him, not saying a word. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I’m so proud of you, y’know that, Princey?” she says, and Dahyun’s crying now, too. Her voice is breaking and tears are streaming down her face. “You’re actually leaving. Fuck, I’m gonna miss your dumb idiot face so damn much.”

“I’m gonna miss _your_ dumb idiot face!” Jisung cries, and clutching onto each other like a lifeline, they both laugh.

After what feels like forever, Dahyun and Jisung part, still holding onto each other. “It’ll be alright. You’ll take good care of Minho, won’t you?” she asks, and Jisung nods, biting his lip and sniffling. She smiles in spite of a sob, then turns to Minho. “And you’ll take care of Jisung too, right?”

“I will. I promise I will,” he says, squeezing Jisung’s hand, and even though her best friends are about to leave her, Dahyun feels content. “You guys are gonna be so lost without me,” she giggles, wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I love you both so much. Never forget that, okay?”

“Come on,” Jisung says, patting her back. “I thought this wasn’t a goodbye?”

“It’s not,” she says, forcing herself to smile. “I just… want you to remember that until I see you again. And I will! Me and Chaeyoung are gonna make this kingdom so much better, and when it’s alright, you’ll come visit. Promise me you’ll visit?”

“We will,” Minho says, and Jisung looks at him like he’s the moon on the clear night. He knows he didn’t say it earlier, but he loves him too.

“Minho, my sweet boy, come here,” she says, laughing as she takes hold of both of his hands. “You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you, too. I’m proud of both of you,” she says. Then, she looks at Jisung, a glint in her eye. “Congrats on proving me wrong.”

Jisung laughs. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

Minho looks confused. Dahyun opens her mouth to tell him what she meant, but Jisung stops her by grabbing her hand and squeezing it. She giggles. “We should probably get going if we’re ever gonna actually leave,” he says to Minho, and he nods, wiping his eyes. “You’re right. First,” he says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out something small and shiny. Dahyun squints at it, quirking an eyebrow in confusion when she sees it,

“It’s Jisung’s engagement ring. I stole it when he saved me earlier, I thought it would be funny. For old time’s sake.”

Dahyun laughs heartily, taking the ring and holding tautly in her hands. “It is funny! You’re hilarious, Minho. I can’t wait to see you again,” she says, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, and Minho smiles. “You too, princess. You too.”

“Alright, you fuckers need to go,” Dahyun says finally, taking a deep breath. Even if it’s only until they leave, Dahyun’s finally managed to stop crying. “When your dad asks where you are tomorrow, I’ll just tell him you died. Both of you. I'll play it up, so don't worry about that.”

“Sounds great,” Jisung giggles, rummaging through his duffle bag again. He chokes back a sob. Then, Jisung places his childhood stuffed bunny on the pillow next to Dahyun’s head. “It’s pretty old and manky,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “If you don’t want it, feel free to burn it, but-”

“Never. I thought you couldn’t sleep without this?” she asks.

“I couldn’t,” he says. He looks at Minho and smiles. “Not anymore, though. Are you ready to go?” he asks, and Minho nods. He seems certain this time. His eyes aren’t fully dry, but the three of them know that it’s now or never.

They hug one last time, hanging in the embrace longer than they should, and eventually pull apart. Dahyun is trying her hardest to hold it together. “Stay safe,” she says as they stand. 

“We will,” Jisung says. He wraps his arm around Minho’s waist again, pulling his arm over his shoulder to help carry him out. “I love you so much,” she says again, swallowing hard, and Jisung nor Minho can bear to look at her as they slowly make their ways towards the door frame.

“I love you too,” Minho whispers, tears spilling down his cheeks and onto the carpeted ground below. Jisung leans in and kisses his cheek.

He turns his head to look at Dahyun one final time. “Me too.”

They leave the palace without anyone noticing. There are two guards out front, but neither of them react when they see Jisung and Minho standing at the gates, as both of them are unconscious.

“Thanks, Chan,” Jisung says as they meet again, and Chan smiles. “No problem.” He pushes open the gates of the palace and gestures towards a carriage waiting for him. He looks so proud of himself, and Jisung can't help smiling. “Got you a horse. Hey, Minho, I’m sorry about the whole… locking you in a cellar thing.”

Minho shrugs. “Happens to the best of us. Thank you for helping.”

“I asked a friend of mine to take you out of here. He knows a place a couple of hours from here, really nice, where no one’s gonna find you. You don’t have to stay there, but while you get yourself sorted out it might be a nice resting place,” Chan says, helping Jisung and Minho into the carriage. He sighs. “I can’t believe you’re going,” he says, and Jisung laughs a little. “Me either. We’ll come visit someday,” he says, patting Chan’s shoulder. “Promise.”

“I guess I’ll see you then,” Chan says, smiling fondly at both of them. “Safe journey.”

“Thank you!” they call back in unison, and with that, the carriage is going, and they’re leaving. It won’t be long until the sun rises. Minho rests his head on Jisung’s shoulder, yawning as he does. “Minho?” Jisung asks, and Minho mumbles a sleepy “yes?”

“I love you too.”

And he truly, truly does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... it's over. thank you all so so much for reading, i'll see you soon <3

**Author's Note:**

> i plan on updating every wednesday and sunday, so check back for updates on those days. thank you so much for reading!


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